Vicissitude of Fate
by High Lady Nyx
Summary: Victor leaned close, wicked claws penetrated deep into her neck, eyes blazing and fangs on full display on his terrifyingly handsome face. "You. Are. Mine," he snarled, his rumbling voice simmering with warning ... AU. Dark. A perfectly ordinary human's life was altered by a chance encounter with one powerful mutant. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY. Victor Creed in his element/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content in later chapters. If you don't like it then don't read!****  
**

**DISCLAIMERS:**  
_– X-Men_ belongs to whoever legally owns it which sadly isn't me. I'm only playing with the characters for my own enjoyment and make no money out of this whatsoever.  
_– _All other characters are fictitious and any resemblence to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  
_– _I'm sure I don't need to say this, but anyway. I do NOT condone any evil done in this utterly untrue, made-up story! Wrong is wrong, FACT.

**A/N: **I've no idea how the character was depicted in the original comics and no offence to Tyler Mane (I'd blame the over-zealous eyebrow stylist) but this is Victor Creed as played by Liev Shreiber. Tall, vicious, menacing. I rest my case.

AU. This is set sometime after Jimmy leaves Stryker's team, and Victor has also left 'cos he wants to be his own man and has had enough of following Stryker's orders.

And I should also warn you, this is probably going to be quite dark. Not set in stone but I'm fairly sure Victor won't reform into a cheeky chappie. There are lots of awesome stories out there where he does but I fancied writing him in his _au naturel_, brutal self. I wonder how much interest there is in stories like this? Lemme know!

Enough yapping. Let's get going.

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

Victor picked up the scent within half an hour of her stepping foot on the mountain. _His_ mountain, as he liked to think of it. A human frail, markedly distinct from the few locals that he condescended to let live since they had inhabited the region for so many generations as to have become practically entrenched into the very landscape, and winter hadn't entirely released its grip at this altitude so it was too early for dumbass city folk playing native.

There was a particular wildness to the scent that reached him on the breeze, a subtle tang but with a sweet aftertaste that reminded him of wild berries found in thorny thickets scattered all across the mountain. Even if he hadn't already been hell-bent on sharpening his claws on any trespassers it was enough to pique his curiosity.

* * *

He easily tracked her down to a small natural clearing edging onto a stream. She was hunched close to the running water, her long auburn hair dragged hastily into a messy pony tail, thick leggings moulding around shapely legs from well-worn ankle boots all the way up to under her waterproof jacket.

She was checking the items scattered about her that presumably came from the bag in the first place. He studied her from high up in a spruce tree as she checked the batteries in two flashlights, counted eight apples, shook a bag of what looked like dried salted meat, refolded some bundles of clothes and checked and resealed a small box of matches in a waterproof bag.

They all ended up inside or tied to the holdall as did the rolled-up mat and sleeping bag, and all the while she kept glancing around, pausing, listening. He glimpsed her startlingly blue eyes when her gaze swung in his direction but he remained unmoving amongst the thick leaves and knew she couldn't sight him. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, her lips pursed with tension, her small face taut as if she knew she was being hunted. His bloodlust started kicking its familiar beat.

She unravelled and felt along a length of sturdy rope before winding it back up again, then slung the coil over her head and across her chest. Finally she plucked up the water bottle resting by her feet. She drank the last of it before refilling it from the stream and shoving it into a side pocket of the holdall. She heaved the long straps over her shoulders, one on each side to distribute the weight, and pulled a compass from her pocket. She waited for the needle to still, checked against the sun and began heading east.

The frail seemed prepared for a trek right across the massive mountain and first indications were that she wasn't stupid. He wondered how far she'd get, how long she'd intrigue him enough to stay him from spilling her blood. The anticipation of a stimulating hunt made Victor decide to draw this out.

_Game on, frail_.

* * *

She made surprisingly good progress for a human. She took the time to look out across the rocky cliffs and ravines, mentally plotting routes before picking her way through. She kept a steady pace, always pushing onwards without over-exerting herself, maintaining a routine of pausing briefly every quarter hour to look around and listen as well as resting for three minutes every hour.

At one point a small flock of birds fled to the sky with alarm calls and she instantly dropped low to the ground. He'd glimpsed the fox some minutes ago so wasn't perturbed in the least as to the culprit but the sudden alarm put her on high alert.

She scampered off the animal trail she had been following and climbed up towards the sparse spread of trees. She quietly dropped the holdall behind a boulder, effectively concealing it from the trail, and continued up the incline on her hands and feet until she ducked down behind a rocky outcrop.

He watched in amusement as she stilled her breathing and strained her ears, wondering what had her so startled. It couldn't have been him, he knew the locals didn't dare mention him to any outsiders.

She stayed there for almost ten minutes listening to the usual sounds of birdsong and rustling of leaves before she suddenly huffed, rolled her eyes, shook her head, and scampered and slid back down to her holdall amidst a scattering of earth and then back onto the trail. She passed directly under the tree he was perched in and he heard her muttering to herself as she passed.

"... jumping at bloody nothing. Get a grip, woman..."

It was an hour afterwards that Victor picked up another foreign scent. Human male, expensive cologne, brand new leather walking boots. He scrunched his nose in disgust. Sparing a last glance at the frail's pony tail bobbing over the next incline, he veered his course to come up from behind on the new and already less welcome intruder in his domain.

* * *

It was a stinking rich city boy. The brand new walking boots were as squeaky clean as they'd smelt and the unfaded jeans and crisp new chequered shirt did nothing to prevent the man from sticking out like a flashing neon sign in the rough wilds. He clattered along noisily following a navi-map.

No, it was a tracking screen, Victor realised, and he also knew what the lost little rich boy was tracking as the man unerringly headed in the direction of the frail.

A growl began rumbling deep in Victor's chest. It was _his_ fucking frail, _his_ fucking hunt, and this son of a bitch was starting to interfere.

* * *

By the time the frail saw City Boy it was already too late. A clattering of stones during one of her quarter hour pauses caught her attention – he was sprinting at her across the valley she had just traversed not fifty metres away. She legged it without a moment's hesitation, dropping the holdall as she went. There was a brief burst of speed charged by a surge of adrenalin, but then her toe caught on a protruding rock and she went flying.

Even at his distance as he bounded over on all fours Victor's keen ears picked up her sharp gasp as she landed heavily on the rocky ground. She scrambled to her feet, her right leg almost giving way before she began to stumble away as fast as she could, one hand pressed to her thigh. The man was on her in moments.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?" The taunt carried over to Victor across the valley as he bounded ever closer.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

He grabbed her by her hair and snatched up the coiled rope. "Aww, you even gave me the rope to tie you up with. Cute."

She was fighting up a right storm and the man had to pin her down with his whole body as he tied up one wrist then the other. As he was getting up, however, she kneed straight up and caught him solidly between the legs.

He folded in on himself.

"Bitch!" he coughed hoarsely.

But he wasn't down. As she was scrabbling to her feet he backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped back and she was sent tumbling to the ground again. Victor's blood was boiling. Ain't nobody allowed to damage his prey but himself.

City Boy kicked her in the ribs and the frail cried out. Still looking rather green, he hauled her up by the rope and arms.

"Move it!" He began shoving and dragging her along back the way he'd come. "I don't appreciate you dragging me into your domestic tiff, Sofie," he grumbled.

"It's not a tiff, Freddy. I _left_ him."

"Yeah, yeah, and he told you when hell freezes over. You should've listened to him, sweetheart, he's not very happy with you right now. And he won't even pay me for chasing down your sorry arse so I'm not happy with you either. Can you believe he blames me for this fucking stunt of yours?"

"Well Blaine's right for once. It's your own stupid fault. I'm only a _girl_ but you're too much of a mama's boy to even be able to keep an eye on lil' ol' me, ain't ya?"

She gave him no time to react to her mocking taunt. She threw her head back and smashed him on the nose.

He gave a muffled howl and touched his nose. The hand came away glistening red. Livid, he jerked hard on the rope and yanked her backwards to the ground. His free hand reached behind him and pulled a Colt .22 revolver free of his waistband. He cocked it, pointed it at her knee –

The rumbling growl of a mountain cat stopped the man in his tracks. He looked up –

Oh no, not a cat. Just one very large, very pissed-looking giant of a man. But as lips curled back to reveal long sharp fangs Freddy honestly couldn't see much difference.

He kept the gun pointed at the frail. "Easy, pal, there's no need for trouble. We'll be right out of your way."

Victor smirked and took a step closer. He'd been fifteen feet away. Now fourteen.

Freddy, as the frail had called him, twitched nervously and snapped the gun up at him. "No need to be heroic, man, we're family, I'm just taking her home."

Did he think Victor was trying to _save_ the frail? He would've laughed if the wind hadn't changed direction just then, carrying with it two distinct scents of blood. The human's broken nose was obvious. But he hadn't noticed the gash in the frail's thigh, the blood seeping wider across her dark leggings.

A rumbling started up deep in his chest. Asshole had even shed first blood.

Victor took another step. Thirteen.

White knuckles clenched the gun, the other hand tightly fisting the rope. The air was sharp with the human's dank sweat. As prey he would have been boring as hell. Too easy to break.

Even the frail was keeping it together better. She wasn't staring at either of them but in the space in between, using her peripheral vision to keep track of both. Smart frail. Victor could practically see the calculation in her eyes, judging his own slow steps with the man's distraction and trying to time her escape.

Another step. Twelve.

Freddy's eyes darted back to him. The frail rolled away –

But the man was jumpy. He caught the movement, stamped down hard on her back and elicited a soft gasp of pain.

The rumbling became a full-on growl. Another step. Eleven.

Victor jabbed a claw in her direction. "_That_ belongs to _me_."

Freddy blinked at him, at the frail, then back again as if that simple statement was too much for his anxious brain to handle. He clutched both rope and gun tighter, straightened his arm for a better aim. The gun was not steady.

"No way, buddy, I haven't come all the way across this shithole for nothing." The tough words were completely belied by the tremor in his voice, the panic in his eyes on the verge of spilling over.

"Oh nooo," Victor agreed with mocking sympathy. "Not for nothing." A wide grin displayed fangs. "You came to die."

Eyes widened, Freddy's hand shook more violently.

Dipshit was about to snap. Victor smirked.

Another deliberate step. Ten.

With a totally unnecessary, exaggerated flick of his wrists designed only to overwhelm the last of the pathetic shit's nerve, Victor extended his claws.

Ba – Ba – Bang –

Three gunshots. Their echoes bounced back and forth down the valley. Victor let himself be thrown backwards as the bullets tore through his chest. It hurt, of course it goddamn hurt, but he'd seen the frail staring directly at him for the first time and his curiosity began itching again. He lay still, waiting, listening to the shocked stillness.

"... Freddy!" came her shocked whisper at length.

Panting, by the man. A breath held then released as the frail got to her feet.

"You killed him..."

"Shut up!" The outburst seemed to open the flood gates and all the rest of Freddy's panic was hot on its heels. "Shut the fuck up! It's all your fucking fault! If you hadn't ran off none of this would've happened!"

"You actually killed him..." Her voice was a dark combination of horror, shock and accusation. "You killed a man."

The man huffed. "He's no man, no human at all. He's a freaking mutant!"

Victor's blood boiled over. He tensed, ready to leap up –

"Mutants _are_ human, you moron!" The anger in the frail's voice derailed some of Victor's own rage, made him pause for just a moment. "It's called _evolution_!"

Freddy glared, swung the butt of the gun at her head –

The gun was knocked out of his hand and went flying straight at the frail. She jolted, instinctively caught it in her bound hands.

But before Freddy could give chase he was screaming bloody murder, his eyes rolling into the back of his head showing all white. His hand had been crushed in the grip of a massive paw, bones crunching into a condensed ball that no hand should ever have looked like.

The frail looked like she had seen a ghost. She kinda had, Victor mused, seeing as he was a supposed dead man standing. Her wild, terrified appearance complete with a trickle of blood zigzagging down from the split in her lip stirred heat directly south of his naval and he realised he was already bored with the piece of shit he'd just begun torturing. It was the only thing that saved the pitiful human from an agonizingly drawn-out death.

"Enough."

He raised his free hand. Extended a claw. Sliced under the chin from ear to ear.

The body dropped with hardly a gurgle.

* * *

He licked the blood off his claw.

Blue eyes as round as dinner plates were staring at him. They gradually drifted down to the three holes in his shirt, their ragged edges heavy with his own blood. He'd been shot enough times to know that one bullet had passed close to his heart and the other two had pierced lungs. Her stunned gaze then fluttered to the body at his feet, to the glistening red pool spreading from the gaping hole under the chin –

Her face morphed into an entirely new level of horror. Her jaw shook. The gun shook. Hell, her whole body was shaking like a leaf.

"You gonna shoot me too, frail?" he purred.

Her answer was a long time coming. As he waited he contemplated what to do with her. City Boy had already thrown Victor's intended hunt off-kilter but he'd be goddamned if he let the dead son of a bitch derail his enjoyment completely. He hadn't planned on raping or killing the frail for a few days yet and there was no way in hell he was going to any earlier than he'd wanted. He'd give the frail's leg a few days to recover then the hunt was back on.

Finally she shook her head, a tiny movement he would have missed if he hadn't spent centuries stalking prey.

His eyes narrowed in warning. "I can't hear you, frail."

She looked like a rabbit that knew that its throat was about to be chewed out. How apt.

"No."

Quiet. And slightly wobbly. But good enough. "No, you ain't stupid, are you? You know it'll only piss me off."

She still hadn't relinquished the gun but he could tell that it was due to her muscles locking up rather than that she was actually contemplating using it. He closed the distance between them, keeping his steps slow, wondering if she would bolt. Or shoot. The air was certainly electric enough with her overwrought tension. But she seemed all but frozen in inaction, except for her eyes which tracked his hand reaching for hers and prying the revolver out of them. He didn't have to be psychic to know that she was thinking back to how he had so easily crushed Freddy's hand earlier. He kept his grip deliberately gentle. He'd save the violence for later.

He tossed the Colt over his shoulder.

Keeping his claws retracted he gripped her chin and turned her head from side to side. He wouldn't call her overly pretty but he found something attractive in those bright cerulean blue eyes and small rosy lips framed by the waves of auburn hair. He was also intrigued by the dark bags under her eyes that she had attempted to conceal with make-up as well as the somewhat drawn cheeks, wondering at their cause. He'd known enough unhappy victims to know that she might not have slept or eaten properly in weeks.

He flicked out a claw, the same that had so easily cut Freddy's life short. It was a good sign that she flinched but made no further movement. It was a rare frail who could overcome her deeply ingrained instinct to fight or flee. They always made more worthy prey.

She held absolutely still. And just as well. It saved her from losing some fingers when he slashed down through the ropes binding her wrists. If there was any tying up to be done Victor would be seeing to it himself.

"Stay put," he said mildly before going to retrieve the holdall she had dropped back along the trail. He kept his back turned as he sauntered along in no great hurry, wondering if she would obey. He heard no movement and sure enough she was still standing there glued to the spot as he turned to head back with the bulky bag slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

Not that she was numb with shock, he noticed. She was watching him intently, her eyes alight. There was some hard thinking going on in that head of hers. Victor was practically salivating at the thought of overwhelming her till she was at wit's end.

He carried right on up to her until her face was practically in his chest, stopping just as she was about to step back. He scraped a claw down her cheek, leaving a red welt lined with tiny droplets of blood in its wake. She grit her jaw but didn't try to pull away.

"Try anything stupid, I'll gut you. You hear me?"

She nodded. "Yes," she added shakily of her own accord a moment later.

Frail learned quick. This was gonna be fun. "Start walking."

* * *

**A/N:** You're still reading? Wow, ta muchly! Be great if you could drop a review and let me know what you think *fluttering eyes*  
Shall I carry on? Interested in evil, twisted Victor, or do people only want happy Victor? A rather mild start but I'm planning on matters going downhill.  
~ Nyx ~


	2. Chapter 2

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content in later chapters. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N: **I've gotta put in a special mention for the first nine reviewers – you're the best! I'm over the moon with all your lovely comments and encouragement, virtual hugs and chocolate cookies for you! :)

I'm also very happy to see there is plenty of love for an evil Victor. I don't consider him to be "in full flow" yet in this chapter, but I hope I can do him justice as the story goes on – one guest reviewer even shed anime tears, who could resist that? ;-P

Second installment!

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

Sofie was acutely aware that she might have slipped Blaine's noose only to land herself in even deeper shit. Never more so than when the mutant suddenly grabbed her clean off the ground not ten steps later.

She yelped in surprise. She tensed, ready to fight tooth and nail, determined not to give up so easily even if in vain. This was it, her time was up, he'd slice her open –

But he simply slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She froze for several uncertain seconds before her heartbeat finally began calming down. When he picked up the pace to a cantering jog she realised he must have got become impatient with her slowly limping along.

It wasn't the most comfortable position propping her chin up on her hands with her forearms resting on his back, but his shoulder, while lacking in any softness, was so broad that it didn't dig into her stomach too much. And although her injured thigh was now pressed against his chest at least there was the silver lining that she no longer had to walk on it. With his massive hand resting on the back of her knees she felt pretty secure.

Not that _secure_ was to be mistaken for _safe_. As she was bounced along in sync with her holdall over his other shoulder, every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Freddy's dead body, his grossly mashed up hand and all the blood. So much blood! And the red fleshy bits spilling out from the unnatural hole in his throat –

Gagging, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to swallow down the bile. If the giant mutant noticed he didn't ask nor break his long gait as he continued loping across a barren plateau before descending down through another valley.

She had no idea why he was taking her with him or what he wanted with her. His earlier proclamation – _THAT belongs to ME_ – was nothing but ominous. And not even a _she_. _That_.

And amidst all her uncertainty and fear and her painful thigh, there was also a healthy amount of guilt about Freddy. Sure, the bastard would probably have shot her in the knee and carried her back to Blaine had this mutant not interrupted, but she couldn't think that anybody deserved to die like that. And there was one truth in all the rubbish he'd sprouted – he wouldn't have even been out here if she hadn't ran off... She hadn't even given him a second glance, keeping her eyes focused instead on the mutant all the while as he'd retrieved her holdall and returned to start marching her along.

Like the mutant said, she wasn't stupid. Three bullets in the chest that would have left no ordinary person standing had set him back but a few seconds and she'd seen the skin unmarred through the holes in the shirt stained with his blood. Healing – and fast, too – was obviously one of his mutations. And after the gory demonstration of some of his other specialities Sofie wasn't about to argue with him any time soon.

Not that she intended to sit around until he decided to finish her off too, either. She'd be gone at the first opportunity.

Adrenaline shot through her veins again as he shrugged her off his shoulder and set her down none too gently on the ground without breaking step. A sharp flare in her thigh had her biting back a cry and but she soon managed to steady herself. She turned to see where the mutant had gone and her breath caught in her throat.

It was easily the biggest hunting lodge she'd ever seen, with five large windows widely spaced on either side of the double front door – a broad, solid oak affair that swung open to either side and which must have been taller than usual since the huge mutant didn't even have to stoop to walk through. A wide raised porch spanned the entire width of the lodge and around the sides as far as she could see from where she was standing.

"You gonna stand there all day, frail?"

She jumped as his growling voice came from within. She took one glance around her, at the steep rise and fall of the rocky valley surrounding them with very little vegetation or trees to provide cover, and decided against the background _throb–throb_ of her thigh that this wasn't her chance yet.

* * *

The entrance hallway was empty and rather unremarkable except for the fact that the huge space existed in the first place. Leading off from it were a few corridors and some doorways, most of the latter of the same solid double affair as the front door. A huge pair of muddy boots were by the front door, and after checking the clean, polished wooden floor Sofie also removed her own dirty shoes and placed them next to the mutant's. As she was gawking at how hers looked like baby booties compared to his, noises came from the room on her left.

She found the mutant crouched at a huge fireplace – easily as tall as her and twice as wide – but it didn't look at all out of place as the ceiling was higher than standard building regulations and all the solid, polished wooden furniture in the room were also super-sized. Somehow even the pelts of numerous kinds of bears and several wolves strewn over armchairs and on the floor seemed larger than usual.

She was a midget in a giant's sanctuary.

And a _loaded_ giant at that, if the impressive floor-to-ceiling entertainment system was anything to go by.

A fire began crackling in the hearth and the mutant rose, turned to her. Sofie gulped. He was easily pushing six foot five. Her slightly spaced-out brain likened him to a well-muscled, well-oiled, fully armed and armoured tank – a tank that she'd glimpsed out of the corner of her eyes barrelling down the mountain side faster than a roaring avalanche.

She tried to hold his gaze, not wanting to back down and show weakness, but the tips of his protruding fangs and the glint in his dark eyes were just too unnerving. She looked away. Not down, never down, but she still broke first. The mutant smirked and she felt as if she had lost some unspoken battle of will between them.

He shrugged off his jacket and sunk into one of three over-sized armchairs by the fire. He pointed at the one next to him.

"Sit."

The abrupt order grated on Sofie's nerves but she knew she had to choose her battles, even if she was feeling just a smidgeon braver now than when they had been standing right next to Freddy's body. She limped around the holdall that had been dropped in the middle of the floor and made her way over to the spare chair opposite him, the one he hadn't pointed at, and perched on the edge.

His eyes narrowed and she knew he'd noticed her deliberate choice but he didn't comment.

"Name."

Once was bad enough; this was twice now. She wondered whether it was bravery or folly as she replied, "I'm not a dog you can bark commands at. Have you lost the ability to speak in whole sentences?"

She didn't even see him move. A split moment later ten claws had sunk into the armrests and yanked her chair, and her with it, across the width of the fireplace until she was directly in front of him a moment later. Her knees were trapped between his, pressed to the front of his chair, the clawed hands still gripping the armrests and trapping her in their circle.

Sheer unadulterated folly was the answer to her question, she thought as his fangs loomed centimetres from her face.

His voice rumbled low, speaking slowly with deliberate emphasis. "I'll fuck you or gut you or kill you whenever I fucking choose. If you live, it's only 'cos I allow it. _You_ trespassed on _my_ territory and you'll answer whatever goddamned questions I feel like asking, in whatever fucking way I feel like. You hear me, frail?"

She nodded frantically.

He growled.

"Yes!" she croaked.

He didn't move away or release his claws from their biting positions inches from her elbows. "Name," he growled again.

She hesitated, a part of her wondering whether he'd know if she lied, before the more cowardly side of her decided not to risk it. "Sofie."

"You won't get away with lying to me, frail."

She started. Shit, was he psychic too? "I'm not lying! My name _is_ Sofie."

He smirked. "I know. I heard your little chat earlier."

But he wasn't even... Oh. So superhuman hearing then. Perhaps marginally better than being psychic, but best to be sure... "Are you telepathic?"

He was glowering again. "I don't recall saying you could ask any questions."

She clamped her mouth shut.

"Sofie _what_."

Dread surged through her veins as she suddenly became very hot under all her layers. She'd hoped he wouldn't ask for her surname. She began counting the seconds she had left of her life. "Castro," she said quietly.

Her husband was Blaine Castro, a wealthy industrialist with links to the Cuban mafia that no attorney could ever get to stick in court and now one of the biggest benefactors of Senator Robert Kelly – the two were generic features in the media for their anti-mutant reforms, with wide coverage on their mission in life to eradicate what she always referred to with exaggerated air-quotes as "the mutant threat".

Funny, the concept didn't seem so ridiculous now. If this particular mutant had picked up her name from her conversation with Freddy, he might also have picked up her husband's name and make the connection...

She knew the moment the penny dropped. With a roar the mutant leaped over her head, grabbing and pulling her up by her neck on the way and before he dropped down behind her chair.

"I'm not like him!" she cried desperately – and with plenty of anger – before the pressure of his huge hand trapping her neck over the top ridge of the backrest cut off her air supply entirely. She grabbed his wrist and dragged her feet up underneath her, but her torn thigh protested and she was left trying to support her weight awkwardly on one bent leg and the weak grip she could purchase on his arms bulging with tension.

For several heart-stopping moments all she could feel were the vibrations of a deep rumbling in his chest from where the crown of her head was pressed into the solid wall of his abs. His upside down face was a terrifying visage of barely contained rage. She swore his eyes glowed. But still, the part of her that had flared in indignation at the unfairness of being killed for Blaine's wrongdoings made her glare right back.

Eventually he eased his grip just enough to let her gasp for air.

"Start talking. And I'd better like what I hear or I'm roasting your leg for dinner."

"I'll explain everything, but please, let go –"

He tightened his hold again, claw-tips digging in. "Time's ticking, frail."

The pressure mounted in her head, her whole body was shaking – "... trick..." – vision started going dark – "... hos ... tage..."

His hand loosened and she gasped like a man drowning. He still held her by her neck suspended over the ridge of the backrest but at least she could breathe now.

"The fuck was that? I can barely understand you."

And whose fault was that, she wanted to ask. But she'd bought some reprieve and no way was she wasting it. "Blaine tricked me into marrying him then held me hostage for eleven years."

He frowned. "The fuck d'he manage that? You _accidentally_ walked up the aisle and said 'I do'?"

Words tumbled out of her mouth faster than a rushing wall of floodwater. "Not exactly. He turned up at the diner I was working part-time at and I guess you could say I was swept off my feet. He was very different back then," she hastened to add as his faced clouded over. "At the beginning he was all charming and suave and I'd only just turned eighteen, I was flattered that someone like him would look twice at someone like me. He took me out to fancy restaurants and was all supportive about the architecture course I was doing. It was all too good to be true but I was too naïve and stupid to know any different.

"A month after I met him, my Pa got into trouble. I didn't know back then that Blaine had planned the whole thing. Pa's business had started struggling and he borrowed money from the wrong people. When he couldn't pay back their extortionate interests they started threatening me, and they pushed Pa into dealing drugs to come up with the money. It was another month later when the cops started investigating Pa about the drugs, when Blaine said he'd heard what was happening and told me he'd pay back all the money Pa owned and get laywers to straighten things up with the cops. Only I had to marry him, 'cos then my Pa would be family and Blaine said he always helped family. He said he was going to ask me anyway and this just meant we had to get married sooner than he'd planned."

Sofie blinked back angry tears, took a breath. She hoped the mutant was keeping up. "I didn't see much choice in it with all the trouble Pa was in, but to be perfectly honest, at that time I foolishly believed I was happy with Blaine and didn't really mind at all. But soon as we were married everything changed. Blaine's whole attitude changed – basically he dropped the act and became himself. When I confronted him and demanded to know what was going on he told me everything, how he'd started putting pressure on Pa's clients so the business suffered, the loan sharks he'd surrounded Pa with in their place. He laughed in my face, told me what a stupid bitch I was –

"Why?"

She didn't understand the abrupt question. "Why... what?"

The mutant growled. "Why d'he want you in the first place? Why bother?"

Sofie tried not to take that personally. There were more important things at stake here. Like the hand still around her neck – but he was letting her talk so that had to be a good sign, right?

"I asked him that too," she replied. "Part of it was my enrolment in the architecture course, turned out he wanted me to design a mutant-proof prison facility for him."

The hand on her neck tightened.

"But I never did!" she rushed on before he choked off her air again.

The hand loosened. "Go on."

"Blaine was also under investigation himself by district attorneys trying to prove his involvement in a mob killing. He needed a soft, rosy, happy family-man image who couldn't _possibly_ be involved in anything so awful, and saw me by chance when he'd stepped out of a meeting with his lawyers. What better than a fairytale romance and wedding with a local waitress to sway the jury? Worked like a dream, too. They bought it hook, line and sinker and the bastard walked Scott free.

"I soon realised that he wasn't ever going to change, and I tried to leave him. His henchmen dragged me back and he threatened my Pa. He told me that if I left, if I said anything to anyone, if anyone thought I was anything but blissfully married to him, then Pa would meet with an _accident_." The tears threatened again. Sofie swallowed back the lump in her throat and pushed on. "Pa didn't know, none of it. He honestly believed Blaine had saved his business and that I was happy. I couldn't tell him –"

The shadow of impatience in the mutant's face had her wrapping up sharp.

"Anyway, I lived with him for eleven years, a prisoner in his fancy mansions. His goons were always watching me – hell, they practically studied architecture right alongside me. I played the dutiful wife with Pa's life hanging over me while Blaine and Kelly rampaged on their insane campaign of genocide."

She clenched her jaw as her heart wrenched. "Pa died three weeks ago from bowel cancer. Blaine let me organise a funeral, it was the only decent thing he ever did. Soon as it was over I tried to leave, but he was expecting it. His goons were waiting, they locked me up and watched me twenty-four seven. But Freddy's an idiot, too predictable. I managed to escape three days ago."

She sighed.

"And here I am."

* * *

Frail didn't know he'd never have simply snapped her neck – would've been way too quick and painless an end for a mutant-basher. The surprising fury in her blue eyes as she'd glared right back at him had made him pause and let her speak.

He'd been monitoring her pulse by the neck and her changing scents and he knew she hadn't lied. Not that it made him feel any sympathy. He only needed to know that she didn't deserve to die just yet and the hunt could be back on when she'd recovered as he'd planned. Eleven years on after eighteen put her current age at twenty-nine instead of the twenty-five he'd guessed at earlier, not that it made the blindest bit of difference. He was still hundreds of years older and she was still fresh enough to fuck, her blood still ripe for spilling.

He dropped her without ceremony, slunk out to the kitchen and then through to the bathroom. He returned on silent feet with a bottle of beer and long straps of cloth. The frail had moved in the chair only enough to get her feet back on the floor and was rubbing her neck. It was red and raw. He licked a fang.

He crept up behind her before setting the bottle down on the solid stone mantelpiece with a dull clang, making her jump. In one fluid motion he swung a leg over her knees and dropped his arse back into his favoured armchair. She dug her heels in to push her chair away but he was quicker. He latched onto the armrests again with his claws.

"You can sit there quietly or I can tie you up, frail."

As expected she nervously settled down. He was almost disappointed.

Her scent adopted a sharp tang of fear as he slashed the tear in her leggings wider but she remained stock still, even when he leaned down to give the gash in her thigh a good sniff. There was a faint sickly edge of the start of an infection. He licked – she almost jumped out of her seat in a start, but he growled a warning and she held still again. He finished licking the wound, ignoring her tight grip on the armrests and making sure to cover every millimetre of the deep cut. Finally satisfied, he lifted her leg so her foot was resting on the chair between his legs and wrapped the long straps of cloth tightly around her thigh.

When he was done he plucked the bottle from the hearth. She hesitated, then she eventually murmured, "Thanks."

She started pulling her foot away but a growl in the back of his throat stopped her and she left it resting on the cushion of his chair. He opened the beer between a fang and lower teeth as he'd done countless times and spat the bottle cap into the fire. He leaned back, watching the frail closely. He could see the questions dancing behind her eyes but he wasn't done yet.

"Any mutations?"

"Me?"

He rolled his eyes."No, him," he retorted caustically, jabbing a thumb at the pelt of a perpetually snarling arctic wolf pinned to the wall.

But she didn't seem to hear. A gloomy dejection had unexpectedly swept across her face and she was bristling in a way he'd not seen before. "Not that I'm aware. But I wish I did, just so I could rub it in his face. It would be the ultimate revenge, don't you think? Blaine Castro, self-styled Antichrist of all things mutant, finding out that he's actually been married to one all these years?"

Clearly not one of her favourite people then. Join the club, Victor thought, flexing his claws. "I can think of better ways."

Her enthusiasm wasn't dampened by the display. "Pish, that's too obvious." Her voice was venomous. "I want to get under his skin, drive him stark raving mad."

He had his own ways to do that, too. Especially the part about the skin. "Who was Freddy?"

A rapid succession of expressions crossed her face – dislike, horror, guilt and fear, in that order. "Another Castro, one of Blaine's cousins. Bodyguard, hit man, driver, bag carrier, waiter – you name it, he did whatever Blaine wanted. Which for a lot of the past eleven years," she added snidely, "also included the illustrious role as the goon who kept an eye on The Wife."

"And Freddy was the one who was watching you after your dad died?"

As before, her face went deliberately blank. Victor had seen this hundreds of times in his victims when trying to deal with something too painful for them to bear. "Yes."

"You said he was predictable?" He was starting to get annoyed at having to prompt her.

Fortunately for her she started talking more. "Yeah. He'd got into some fight with his Ma a while back and she called him every few days to keep on shouting at him. Afterwards he was always in a right old grump, ranting and raving and sending the other muscles away from the house. Couldn't send _me_ away, of course, so he'd taken to locking me in the basement while he stormed around the house. The time I escaped, when his Ma called I took myself down to the basement like a good little girl before he had to drag me like usual. He was surprised to find me there, and he thought he'd cowed me into submission and was so damn pleased with himself that he didn't notice I'd sabotaged the lock so I could slip it easily from inside. I simply walked out with all the provisions I'd put together beforehand."

Victor liked this one. Clever, resourceful and not easily terrified out of her wits. He was actually looking forward to her trying to pull the wool over his eyes. He rested a hand on the foot still resting between his legs and trailed a claw-tip over her ankle, raising red circles without breaking skin. She twitched at the gesture but made no further move or comment.

"You get three questions, frail," he eventually said. Boy was he feeling generous.

She recovered her surprise quickly. "What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Creed."

She nodded slowly as if he'd just departed some brilliant words of wisdom. She considered her next question and he heard her heart start thumping harder. Whatever she was about to ask next had her nervous.

"What do you want with me?"

Point to frail for having the courage to ask.

"Not entirely decided yet," he purred with a darkly suggestive grin.

She gulped.

"But you ain't getting far with your leg like that. You can rest up a few days, and if you're still alive, then..." He slid his hand more firmly around her ankle. "Then we'll see, won't we? Suppose you could be on your way."

She eyed him suspiciously as if she didn't take him at face value. She was edgy, just where he wanted her.

"Last question, frail."

"O-kaaay. How do I ask when I want to ask more questions?"

He'd have laughed if he hadn't still been musing on what she'd sound like screaming until her vocal chords gave out. He scratched a little harder with his claw on her ankle, she winced but kept looking at him expectantly.

"You don't. I'll know if you've got questions and I'll tell you if I feel like answering."

She mulled over this. "But what if–"

"That was three questions, frail. You better start listening or you ain't gonna walk out of here in one piece."

She was annoyed, he could see it in the tight muscles of her jaw and the slight contraction of her brow. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the tiniest flicker of her eyes, glancing at her foot still on the chair between his legs, and then straight up to the only soft part of his body –

He lurched forward until they were practically nose to nose, the frail throwing herself back in the chair to avoid having her nose smashed in. The tip of his claw dug into the tendon of her ankle. She hissed in pain.

"What were you just thinking?"

"Nothing!"

He dug his claw in harder. She writhed, then held still when she caught on that he only dug in more when she moved. Or lied.

"What. Were you. Just. Thinking."

"You were threatening me!" she gasped through the sharp pain. "It was just instinct but –"

"So you thought you'd just kick me in the balls?"

Her whole body was taut as a bowstring. "N-no, I-I wouldn't have –"

"You sure, frail?" He pressed his claw deeper –

And all of a sudden she seemed to snap and explode, yelling furiously at him. "I'm sure! Being _shot_ obviously did shit all, I hardly think a kick between the legs would do anything other than make you seriously pissed at me and that seems like a pretty dumbass idea to me!"

His rage swung an abrupt u-turn into lust.

_Ooooooooh, frail's got fire!_

People's breaking points made for interesting study and this one continued to surprise him. The more he pushed, the more she gave, being all timid and frightened, until at some point it became too much and she exploded to the other extreme. Playing with this frail was looking more and more appealing.

He savoured her pain for several seconds – her harsh breathing, thumping heart beat and her body trembling on the verge of agony – before he released her. She snatched her foot back, scooted as far back as she could in the armchair and clasped the ankle with both hands.

There was a fresh zing of blood in the air. His stomach rumbled as he took a casual slurp of his beer.

"You cook, frail?"

He glanced over when she didn't immediately reply. His movement jarred a quiet response. "I can throw a meal together but I don't know if it's any good."

"What, you got no taste buds?"

"It's not the same tasting your own cooking. Pa –" She choked on the word before killing all expression on her face and carrying on. "Pa used to claim that it was the best, but he'd probably have said that even if it was the worst. Blaine never liked it but he hates my guts so I'd hardly say he was impartial either. So I have no idea."

"Well we'll see, won't we." Victor waved at the doorway with the beer. "Kitchen's the second door on the left. Don't go wondering anywhere else."

He made no move to make things easy for her, smirking as he remained exactly as he was with his legs stretched out on either side of her. She opted to climb over the arm of the chair rather than his legs, stumbling a little when her thigh and ankle both protested. He heard her footsteps pause in the doorway.

He ignored her, waiting to see what the hell she was about. Three seconds later she blurted, "Can I use the bathroom?"

He clicked his claws on the bottle. "What did I say about asking questions?" he snarled dangerously.

She didn't shy like he thought she would. She jutted her jaw out, held firm. "I thought about that. But then I thought you might take more offense if I peed on your happy grizzly chum here."

Damn right he would – his 'happy grizzly chum' would only be the largest and most ferocious damned grizzly he'd ever had the pleasure of wrestling. But he wasn't pissed at her. Frail was scared but stubborn and gutsy enough to talk back. All the signs pointed to more fun for Victor and a smile played on the corner of his lips.

"Next door around from the kitchen," he said gruffly, still not looking at her.

"Thanks," she murmured before padding away.

That word again. Victor didn't know if the frail was just that damned polite or if she was already trying to lull him into a false sense of complacency; either promised plenty of gratification. He took another swig of beer and mused on how he would eventually break her.


	3. Chapter 3

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N: **So, things are stepping up between Vics and Sofie. I'm happy to note that I've started on the "in later chapters" part of previous warnings on sexual content and it could be in any chapter from here on. I had great fun writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it too :)

Also, living in the UK, I have no idea if killing or eating bison is even legal. I only have some limited perusal of Wikipedia to go on and I'm guessing that it might depend on where in North America you are? For example, the wood bison in Canada is on the endangered species list so I'd guess that would be a big No No. For the purposes of this story, however, Victor is hardly the type of person to care, and bison was a much better fit than a cow which was the alternative I was considering. I just couldn't see Sabretooth tackling a lumbering, doe-eyed bovine in quite the same way...

Anyway. Enjoy!

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

"Victor?"

He narrowed his eyes at the colourfully robed figures flying on invisible wires on the TV, and tapped a claw on the remote. He'd heard her approach the den several seconds ago, of course, but he wondered what the hell she thought she was doing returning without his dinner. She'd been gone precisely eight minutes, four of which was spent in the bathroom – hyperventilating, muttering to herself and what sounded like her splashing liberal amounts of water on her face before emptying her bladder almost as an afterthought – and then rummaging around in the kitchen and loitering uselessly until she'd plucked up the courage to bother him.

Frail took another uncertain step into the den. "Victor, I don't know how to cook with what's in your larder."

He personally took care of keeping his larder well-stocked and he didn't appreciate her questioning his supply. He sprang fluidly from his seat and advanced on her. She backpedalled out of the den, wide-eyed.

"The fuck is wrong with what I've got?" He backed her into the kitchen.

"N-nothing, I just –"

"Then what the fuck are you asking me for?"

She went to scoot around the breakfast bar but he slammed his hands down on it on either side of her and blocked off her escape. He leaned over her. She leaned away.

She was bravely meeting his dark glower but her scent betrayed her fear, and the combination made his focus veer abruptly to an altogether different part of his body. He wondered if perhaps he shouldn't bother with all this waiting and just have his way with her right here on the black countertop.

His eyes ran down over the swell of her breasts and to the stretched juncture of her leggings at the top of her legs. His hot gaze climbed back up her slender form, zeroed in on her lips. He leaned in –

She ducked, darted out from under his arms and around the breakfast bar. "I've never dealt with a whole carcass before," she blurted.

One dark eyebrow climbed half way up to his hairline as he regarded her shielding herself across the island as if that could save her.

She turned her head, pointedly looking aside through the open larder door to the joints of meat and several whole animals hanging from steel bars traversing the ceiling.

"I wouldn't know where to start," she insisted with just a hint of a tremor.

He almost burst out laughing but he managed to smother his mirth to a faint grin as she stared nervously back. He found himself so amused by her attempted deflection that he decided to play along.

"Then I'd better show you, hadn't I?" he purred in a tone that suggested something else entirely.

He sauntered into the cool larder. When he emerged with a whole hind leg of an adult bison over his shoulder she was still hovering by the kitchen island but looking as if she might bolt at any second. Her arms were clenched tightly around herself and her bright blue eyes kept flickering to the open doorway.

"Door's open, frail."

She stilled.

"You're free to leave," he added casually as he dumped the leg on the table.

She eyeballed him with complete distrust before muttering, "Yeah, right."

He liked that she was ballsy enough to be petulant. "I won't stop you from walking out."

She scoffed. "And once I'm outside?"

He smirked. "I'll run you down."

She stayed exactly where she was.

"No?" he taunted. "Don't want to play chase?"

She glared mutinously.

"Alright, then."

Faster than she could react, in one smooth motion he catapulted himself over the breakfast bar, scooped her into his arms and pressed himself flush against her back. Whatever her surprised protest might have been it was knocked out as nothing more than a shaky _umph_ by the impact.

He had to concede her valiant effort as she struggled furiously, writhing roughly against his swelling excitement. She suddenly stilled, however, when his husky groan made her realise the effect this was having. He could guess at her agonising dilemma of desperately wanting to fight him off but recoiling from the thought of what that was doing to him, and it only fuelled his dark amusement.

His rough mutton chops scratched her cheek as he leaned down and nuzzled her. "Mmm, where were we?"

"The meat!" she squeaked.

He laughed breathily into her ear. "Oh yes, the meat."

He grazed the tip of a fang against the edge of her mouth. Her whole body was trembling in fraught tension, exciting his bloodlust, but he let it rumble in the background for the time being. There was still plenty of fun to be had before spilling her blood.

A thin red line ran along the curve of her cheek where he'd clawed her before bringing her here, and he now dragged his fang upwards and raised a second welted line parallel to the first. She held dead still, not even breathing as the sharp point passed frighteningly close to her eye.

Satisfied with the second marking, he pushed her forwards and sandwiched her against the island unit. He reached around her, keeping her trapped between his arms as he jammed his claws into the giant severed leg and dragged it in front of them.

"Watch. _You_'ll need to use a knife. First thing's to skin it."

So he showed her how to prepare it, removing the dense coat, carving off large chunks of flesh, working around the bones, then wrapping and sealing up the remainder in the animal's own skin – all with just his hands and claws.

She looked rather green by the time he was done, a hand pressed against her mouth. He gave her some space as he went to wash his bloody hands and then leaned on a side counter, folding his huge arms over his chest. "Right, then," he prompted.

She chewed her lip, looking between him and the slabs of meat and the stove. "Is there anything in particular you want me to do with it?"

"Surprise me."

She gulped. "Ok."

He watched as she found her way around his kitchen, ducking into the larder and emerging with more root vegetables than he realised he had, rummaging in the fridge and cupboards for various items and figuring out how his stove worked. Soon she had several pots and pans on the go. She was tidy, cleaning up as she went. Suited him fine – he couldn't abide mess.

She paused at one point. She looked back and forth between the veg piled up on the side and the load of meat still on the breakfast table.

"What?" he growled. He was impatient, his taste buds salivating at the smell of the sauce she'd stirred up.

"... Am I allowed to eat?"

"The fuck is wrong with you? Of course you'll eat. There's a shit load of things I can do to you but trust me, starving you to death won't be one of 'em."

He'd meant it as a statement of fact rather than a threat but she looked rather shaken as she resumed cooking. There was more veg than he usually had in a week and he wondered if she thought he'd actually eat any of it. When she threw the bison meat into the sizzling pan she hesitated, glanced at him, then threw in the lot. He smirked. There was probably three times there than the biggest human could consume at an all-you-can-eat barbeque. She kept the meat moving while washing the breakfast bar clean.

She started looking in the cupboards for plates. He decided to help for the sake of speed – food was smelling good and he was ravished. She didn't even blink at the huge trough-like dish and the smaller, normal dinner plate that he handed her.

"How much?" she asked as she began dishing up the meat.

"Half that," he replied, nodding at the large pan.

A small mountain formed on his trough. "Do you want veg?"

"No more than a ladle."

A few pieces of carrots, parsnips and potatoes ended up on the side. She drizzled the whole thing with that mouth-watering sauce and set it at the head of the long table that dominated one wall of the spacious kitchen. He tucked in without waiting for her. It tasted as good as it smelled, the rich creamy sauce melding with the mature taste of bison. The feline in him purred in contentment.

She seemed to have some sort of internal debate with herself before setting her plate three chairs down from him in the middle of the table. The significance of her choice wasn't lost on him – she didn't want to be near him but she also refused to appear so frightened as to scarper off to the far end.

"You gonna eat?" he asked around a half-chewed mouthful before she could sit down.

"Ye-ees," she answered uncertainly, looking at the food she'd set down as if wondering if one of them had gone blind.

"That all you eating?" he asked, pointing at her plateful of veg with his fork.

She finally seemed to get his confusion. "I don't eat meat," she said quietly.

His face was blank. "The fuck do you mean you don't eat meat?"

"Exactly that. I'm a vegetarian."

His brow furrowed. "That a medical thing?"

"No, I just don't eat meat."

He stared at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. "Why the fuck would you _choose_ to be a vegetarian?"

She shifted nervously. "I just... never got on with it. Sort of makes me feel ill. I like animals, I don't like eating them."

He rolled his eyes. "Ain't that fucking cute." Yeah, la-de-fucking-dah. He waved his fork at the seat next to him. "Well you can come and eat your rabbit food over here."

Her nervousness mixed with her sweet base scent was a perfect garnish to the meal. She brought her plate closer and sat anxiously, picking at the food without eating much. She seemed more timid now since he'd wrapped himself around her. His blood stirred at the memory.

"I meant what I said, frail."

Startled blue eyes turned towards him.

"I ain't having you starving to death. If you can't eat by yourself I'll have to feed you."

She gulped her food down well enough after that.

He'd never had a vegetarian toy before, it opened up whole new avenues of amusing possibilities. In fact, the more he learned about this frail, the more he realised that she was a cut above the usual shit he picked up. There were just so many more ways for him to mess with her, mentally and physically.

He let her have her ridiculous plate of veg and spud for the time being. Casting his mind over what was in his larder he made a mental note to stock up if she was going to be around a while. Not that she'd last all that long. They never did, he usually just got them screaming till he was bored, then dumped their bodies in tiny unidentifiable ground-up pieces.

This one would eventually go the same way. She'd live as long as his control over his bloodlust lasted while she carried on serving up food like this.

He shoved his empty trough at her. "Get me the rest."

* * *

"... That's mine."

Sofie had finished cleaning up in the kitchen and drifted towards the den, only to find him flicking through her purse that she'd thrown in the holdall.

Victor ignored her. Credit cards, loyalty cards, social club cards, a book of postage stamps, cards for her hair dresser, two cards from restaurants Blaine had recently forced her along to and even an ancient library card. He lingered over her driver's licence for a few seconds before everything ended up back in the purse – which ended up in his pocket.

She was about to protest, but he fixed a look on her as if to say, _What are you gonna do? _She closed her mouth and simmered in frustration. He smirked and went back to her holdall.

He shredded his way through the neat bundles of her clothes.

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, unable to help herself. He was leaving her with no change of clothes!

"Not if you know where the tracking device is."

"What? You've got to be kidding me."

"How do you think dear Freddy managed to find you so easily?"

A chill went through her at the realisation. She wasn't shocked, exactly, knowing what Blaine was capable of, only annoyed for not having thought of it herself.

"Damn," she muttered. "I thought I was being careful. I left my cell phone behind and haven't used plastic since I left."

"Not a bad start. But seems your husband took precautions in case you managed to escape."

_And look where you ended up_, she thought to herself. It occurred to her then that the smarter thing to do might actually be to let Blaine recapture her. Of course, she'd leave them both far behind if she had the choice, but of the two Blaine was looking like the less dreadful option. At least he was only human. Against this faster, larger, more powerful and naturally armed mutant with superhuman hearing, she had no chance. And once she escaped Blaine again, next time she'd make dead sure to head _away_ from Victor Creed.

"... Have you found it?"

He turned his dark eyes to her and she wondered if he'd caught her odd tone. "Not yet. Then again, it could be hidden in what you're wearing now."

Startled, her arms instinctively wrapped protectively around herself. But he merely smirked, gathered up the holdall, and left the den. She released a long sigh of relief.

* * *

Her relief was short lived. It lasted precisely as long as it took for him to dump her holdall in another room, return, offer to show her to one of the spare bedrooms, and lead her along the corridor.

She couldn't tell which was harder, the wall at her back or Victor's bruising hold on her wrists. But she certainly knew which hurt more.

Really, she should have seen this coming, but in her defence she'd been in desperate denial. Even during his '_I'll fuck you or gut you or kill you whenever I fucking choose_' speech, even when he'd groped her in the kitchen, even after everything that he'd done, with the blind desperation of a condemned man who didn't want to die she'd refused to entirely believe that he'd _actually_ rape her. Unfortunately it was looking more likely by the minute.

She desperately yanked her arms but couldn't free her wrists from his iron grip above her head, and the more she struggled the brighter that disturbing glint in his eyes became.

"Up to you if you want to sneak off in the night," he purred. She could feel his voice rumbling through the air between them. He transferred both of her wrists into one hand, and with the other he tickled the pads of his fingers softly down the inside of her naked forearm. It felt like an army of red ants were marching along her arm.

"If you do, I'll hear you." His fingers continued fluttering down her arm to her shoulder, then a claw extended to scrape circles around the swell of her chest.

Even over clothes and bra, sensation exploded out from the sensitive bud and burned across her skin.

"Get off me!" she huffed, barely able to dredge up enough air to speak.

He chuckled. "I'll be generous, frail. I'll give you till sun-up before I hunt you down."

Mercifully he moved away from her breast, only for his trailing fingers to creep lower, lower and lower down past her waist. She struggled with renewed desperation but it was all in vain. He butted his head against hers and rasped right into her ear, his hand now right at the top of her legs.

"And when I catch you..." – he suddenly pinched her hard with his claws, over her leggings right on the bundle of hypersensitised nerves – "... I'll fuck you raw."

Fireworks of agonising sensation and painful pleasure burst through her at the sharp torment. Her eyes watered, her knees buckled, her breath shuddered out of her.

He smirked at her reaction and withdrew his claws. He ran his fingertips through the waves of her auburn hair, winding fistfuls around his hand.

"Or, if you stay put, you'll be able to walk for a while longer. Your choice."

With light but insistent pressure pulling on her hair he tilted her head aside and exposed her neck. Her heart was thudding like a bat out of hell as he inhaled along the length of her taut neck, his nose ghosting against her skin.

"You smell good, frail."

It was all getting too much. His brutal dominance, the deceptive gentleness, the paralysing terror barely held at bay in her vulnerable state – her panic began welling up closer to the surface.

"Sure you'll taste good too." His rough tongue licked all the way up from her collar bone to her ear.

She shivered violently. "Victor, stop –"

Fangs sunk in, right where her neck joined her shoulder. She keened at the searing pain, bucked, but he barely budged, his fist in her hair an iron clamp. He slid his fangs out and licked the trail of blood from the puncture wounds.

"Mmmmm, as I thought."

"Jesus Christ, Victor," she cried with a hint of hysteria. The pressure was mounting. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You're not a vampire!"

He laughed and released her hair. She tried to kick him off, but he took advantage of her movement to slide a knee in between her legs. Having that obstruction preventing her from closing her legs suddenly made the situation dangerous on an entirely new level. Her panic kicked into high gear.

He paused, regarded her closely. "You know what," he growled throatily, "there's nothing actually stopping me from fucking you right here, right now."

His countenance darkened as he considered his own words.

And that was the final straw, the boiling point when her fear became too much and she ignited into defensive fury.

"No! Get off me!" she screamed and began thrashing like an incensed Tasmanian devil.

As if he'd been waiting for just this moment, as if he'd specifically been driving her to this breaking point, with a ravenous flash of his eyes his whole demeanour changed. All his teasing gentleness vanished, he was nothing but hard lines and vicious power.

He released his punishing hold on her wrists and instead grasped her face, his massive hand spanning the entire width of her jaw. He kissed her brutally. Crushing pressure on her cheeks forced her mouth open and his rough tongue battled with hers. She tasted his saliva, even the meat from dinner, and her stomach churned. His other hand slithered a blazing trail all over her body. She beat and scratched and shoved at him but she had about as much effect as melted butter on diamond.

A fang caught her lip and the copper zing washed over their tongues. The taste of blood seemed to fire him up even more. He slammed his hardening groin against her, crushing her brutally against the wall, his mouth becoming even more aggressive on hers, practically eating her from the inside. She made an odd sound, a choked sob as her breath hitched in her throat –

He jerked away all of a sudden, releasing her abruptly. Blazing eyes pinned her to the spot for a heart-stopping moment, before he braced himself against the wall, bunched arms on either side of her, eyes closed as he drew deep breaths. She could only stare as he visibly brought himself back under control, not daring to move, the back of her hand pressed against her bruised lips. The red scratches made by her nails faded on his head and arms before her very eyes.

He eventually looked at her again, nothing but cruel lust in those dark eyes. "The offer only stands for tonight," he growled coarsely.

What the heck was he on about now? He seemed to note her confusion.

"You want to run, you go tonight. You have till sun-up before I come after you. It's the only head start you'll ever get." He brushed aside a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, a gesture that from anyone else would have been considered tender. With Victor it was only sinister.

His eyes narrowed when she didn't say anything. "You hear me, frail?"

She glowered at him from under her brows. "I've no idea what the hell to say to that. I hope you don't expect me to _thank_ you."

He smirked, only incensing her more. "Good enough." He tapped the door beside them with a claw. "This is you. Sweet dreams, frail."

She glared at his broad back until he sauntered into his own room and shut the door. She marched into the spare room, slammed the door – and promptly collapsed into a shaking mass of limbs as the crippling wave of panic finally swept over her.


	4. Chapter 4

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMER:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N:** I'm grateful for all of you leaving me lovely messages of encouragement and liking the story! It's hard when you don't know how your writing's being received and all your reviews mean a huge lot :)

EXTRA WARNING for this chapter:  
I can't tell if I'm just a giant wuss or if this chapter really is brutal. I managed to disturb myself writing it. There's blood and gore and rape (but not necessarily what you'll be expecting) as well as some seriously twisted mind-messing.

Not for the faint-hearted!

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Victor Creed was Death personified.

Strangely, after all the horrifying events of that night, it was still the sight of him standing there that was to become the abiding image of him that came to mind when she thought of him. A cut of the night impervious to the howling blizzard, the tails of his black trenchcoat flapping amidst the dense swirls of hail and snow, gleaming blood dripping from his fangs and claws. And those dark eyes, aglow with bloodlust, staring right at her.

* * *

They came three hours later in the dead of night, masking their approach in the sudden blizzard that had engulfed the high mountain peaks.

Three long hours, a series of one hundred and eighty slow minutes that had rolled arduously from one into the next, spent sitting there quivering on the floor after her legs had given way beneath her, staring at the door handle as she waged an internal battle over the impossible decision. Victor had spelled out her best chance of escaping him, a head start until dawn. But it was on _his_ terms, with her holdall of vital supplies confiscated and probably destroyed to pieces by now, and even before the icy winds began howling across the mountains she knew that such a venture would only serve one man and one purpose – a hunt for Victor Creed, with the culmination as promised to _fuck her raw_. Yeah, thanks, but No Thanks.

Not that the alternative held much more appeal – remaining on the premises like a trapped deer just waiting to be pounced upon – but she knew she'd have the teeniest bit more chance of escape if he wasn't already tracking her departure. Surely he couldn't watch her _all_ the time, he was bound to leave her unguarded sooner or later. True, he might attack her in the meantime if she waited too long, but he'd also said – she recalled with a wince – that she'd be _able to walk_ for a while longer if she stayed put so she had to hope that he'd either meant what he'd said or that he wouldn't abuse her too much for a little while at least, and she'd look for her opportunity in the meantime. Logically, she felt it was the right decision. Suppressing her primitive instinct to hightail it out of there as fast and as far away as possible, however, was another matter entirely.

She hadn't heard anything over all the howling outside and the winds buffeting the shutters. The first hint of trouble she detected was the creak of a soft, heavy tread outside her door. Her breath froze in her lungs – but Victor kept moving and his careful steps quickly fell beyond her range of hearing. Then the wind suddenly whistled through the lodge for a brief second before being cut off by the thud of the front door closing.

She wavered in long moments of indecision before curiosity finally won out and she found herself creeping cautiously down the dark corridor. She tiptoed through the flurry of white that had swept into the hallway in the wake of the mutant's departure and through into the den over to the windows at the front of the lodge. The world outside had transformed from when she had taken in the sight earlier, now a muted gloom tinted with faint light reflecting in the dense blizzard. Peering out into the maelstrom of hard pellets of snow flying every which way, she caught glimpses of dark shadows through the ebb and flow of the thick white flurry.

Seven dark figures dashed at a half-crouch for the house, three on one side, two on the other, and two straight down the middle. She saw the silhouettes of handguns and rifles before they ducked under the porch. They waited. One second, two seconds, three – the middle two separated themselves from the shadows and crab-walked, still crouched, across the porch towards the door.

Sofie ducked away from the window and sprinted back to her room in the gloom, grabbing her boots on the way from beside the front door. Pressing the door shut quietly, she shoved her feet into the boots and made a scrambled effort at the laces before throwing on her waterproof jacket. It was too thin to provide decent insulation in such weather as this but it was better than nothing.

The noise of the storm suddenly leaped in decibels, whistling through the house as someone opened the front door. Cold air slithered through the gap under the door and whispered around her ankles.

Sofie grit her teeth. She had a pocket knife and flashlights and a myriad of other things that would have been extremely useful round abouts now, if only she had her holdall with her.

_Real helpful, Victor_.

Her eyes landed on the wooden chair by the side table. She crept over to it, hefted it silently above her head, and positioned herself by the hinged side of the closed door. Her eyes flickered between the window and door just in case, not wanting to be caught out.

She had no idea whether these men were after her or Victor but she knew she had no friends with a fetish for creeping stealthily around in the dark dressed all in black. So when the door handle turned ever so slowly, the door opened in stealthy inches and a dark figure stepped silently into the room, she had no compunction at smashing the chair down over the guy's head.

"Ugh!" He collapsed in a heap.

She barely saw him fall before she leaped over his swearing shadow – only to smack straight into a second man she hadn't seen behind the door.

But luck was on her side. His startled surprise at finding her literally flying into his arms made him hesitate for a split second, all the time Sofie needed to yank herself free. He reached for her but she shoved him hard, adrenaline giving her strength, and the back of his head connected with an audible _crack_ on the doorframe.

She left him groaning and legged it down the corridor. The front door was wide open. She shot out into the swirling snow.

She heard one of the men behind her shout in the instant before she was swallowed up in the storm.

"Sofie!"

So it was her they were after. It didn't make her stop. In fact she pushed on harder, stumbling through the rapidly building snow on the rocky ground. Their cries reached her faintly through the blizzard.

"Stop!"

"There's no point running, Sofie!"

"We don't want to hurt you!"

The last was a woman's voice. Sofie pushed on. Her eyes were tearing up and her face and ears stinging from the biting cold wind. A low-hanging branch whipped her cheek as she dashed passed a tree. Her toe caught on something, she stumbled, found her feet and kept running.

"Get back here!"

"Stop, Sofie!"

A mass of black barrelled at her from out of nowhere. Her instinctive half-scream was lost in Victor's wild roar. She threw herself to the ground and the stygian shadow leaped over her.

Sofie glanced behind her to see a man flung fifteen feet into the air, bent backwards at an unnatural angle.

"MUTAAAANT!" somebody screamed.

Multiple shots were fired, strangely muffled in the storm. Victor staggered a step but otherwise seemed unfazed. His clawed hand disappeared right into a man's mid-section as he practically carved the guy in two.

Sofie stared slack-jawed, somehow knowing that she was safe from him at this particular moment, entranced as the gory painting unfolded before her very eyes.

Victor dropped to all fours and made a great leap at two men huddled behind an outcropping of snow-crusted rock. Fangs ripped out one man's throat, the other had his neck snapped with a sickening _crunch_. Victor was off again and in the blink of an eye he had smashed the fifth man's head to half the size nature had intended and then tore an arm clean off the sixth man, sending the severed limb flying like a comet with a trailing jet of blood, the hand still clenched on the semi-automatic pistol.

Victor drew up and took stock of the carnage around him.

White stained with warm splatters of red, glistening body parts cooling on the snow.

Then his head swung towards her.

It was an eternal moment, their gazes locked in a spark of connection that they couldn't describe. For that one endless moment the storm abated, the world disappeared. All that existed was Victor's savagery and Sofie mesmerised by his raw animalistic power.

He blinked – and the world rushed back amidst a great howling of white. He turned his attention to the seventh figure.

It was the woman who had called out earlier. Sofie jolted in recognition – it was one of Blaine's many on-again-off-again bit on the side who also moonlit as a hired gun. Cannelita, Sofie had once heard him call her. She was part of the harem of stick-thin, willowy women who always seemed to be loitering in skimpy bikinis by the pool, shamelessly flirting and making out with Blaine. Sofie had happily left them to it.

Cannelita looked like an entirely different person now. She was shaking softly, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her usually sun-kissed Mediterranean skin was unnaturally ashen, making the red spray of more than one dying man's blood over her face stand out in stark contrast. But the most disturbing thing was the way she stared blankly at the gutted body at her feet, her brown eyes shockingly vacant.

Victor's mouth slanted into a crooked grin. He collected the surviving victims by their necks – the woman who stumbled along in dead shock and the three-limbed man who promptly began flailing in blind panic – and trudged back to the lodge.

* * *

Sofie didn't know how long she stayed crumpled there, chilled to the bone and her skin burning from the icy wind. God only knows how many times she looked out into the darkness, the mountain obscured by night and blizzard, how many times she looked back towards the light that switched on at the lodge. Between a rock and a hard place, indeed.

She wavered between berating herself furiously for her earlier decision – What the _hell_ had she been thinking? She should have taken all the head-start she could get and legged it the moment he'd released her! Foolish, _foolish_ woman! – and, in the next moment, quivering in renewed fear at what had just happened and being inordinately relieved that she hadn't invited Victor's full attention on herself by playing his twisted game. She shuddered as her over-agitated imagination conjured up all sorts of sickening eventualities when – definitely _when_, not _if_ – he caught up with her.

But then her distressed gaze cast out into the churning storm and she was horribly tempted again to run. Even knowing that it would be the death of her out there, ill-equipped and clothed only for milder conditions as she was, therein lay the possibility of freedom. A tiny ray of hope that was a heavenly balm to her soul embittered by eleven years of captivity, the blizzard sang out at her full of promise...

She was pulled back yet again at the thought of Cannelita and the stranger with the amputated arm trapped back at the lodge. Never mind that they shouldn't have come after Sofie in the first place. What Victor might do to them... What he might do to the woman...

Did Sofie have it in her to do something? Anything? What would Victor do to _her _if she tried to intervene...? As she shied away from that thought, however, Freddy's blood-curdling scream echoed from the darkest recesses of her mind.

She creaked painfully to her feet. Frightened almost out of her mind, fighting her demons and the cowardly voices clamouring in her head, she leaned into the driving wind and plodded one step after another back towards the lodge.

* * *

The light, she realised as she approached with her teeth clattering from the biting cold, came from the side of the building. A trap door half submerged underground, the snow had been cleared like black angel wings where the corrugated iron slabs had been swung open to reveal concrete steps leading down.

Her legs locked up, refused to go any further. That was _not_ a good place. She knew it as clearly as if there had been a sign saying _This Way To Hell_.

"Oh, fuck," she muttered.

She tried to will her feet to move but her heart wasn't in it. Her heart didn't want to be anywhere near here. So she considered leaving, running away, but her heart also cowered at the thought of Victor catching her and her feet still refused to cooperate. They had well and truly dropped anchor.

"_Fuck_," she repeated.

"I did offer."

She yelped, leaped clean off the ground and almost fell over. The voice had been right in her ear and true enough, there was Victor, not an arm's length away, as solid as a giant granite block in the buffeting wind.

"Jesus Christ!" Sofie gasped. "I thought you were –"

– _playing with your latest victims_, she finished silently in her head. She couldn't bring herself to say it aloud.

Victor quirked a questioning brow.

"... down there," she finished lamely. In the back of her mind she tried, and failed spectacularly, to recall what on Earth had possessed her to return to the mutant's lair.

He gave her a grin full of evil tidings and made a sweeping gesture to the open trap door. "After you, frail."

* * *

She tasted bile.

In one of the cells of the concrete bunker the man was chained by his legs and remaining arm to the wall. He was a blathering wreck, screaming obscenities at the mutant one second and begging for his life the next. She could still hear him clearly as Victor completely ignored the poor man and pushed her into the next cell.

Cannelita was chained to the floor spread-eagled, lying silent and unmoving except for the constant tremors racking her body. Vacant, unblinking eyes stared into thin air. She was nothing but an empty shell in a body automatically ticking on.

"Oh God..."

Victor crouched and grabbed the dark hair to lift the woman's face for a closer look. "She's gone," he observed as indifferently as he might note that they had run out of carrots in the larder.

"Oh. My. _God_..."

His eyes swung up sharply to Sofie. "Don't tell me you're losing it too."

Her frazzled fear was beginning to form into something harder. "Victor, she has to get to a hospital."

"What, and spoil my fun?"

She barely heard him. She burned with an unshakable need to do something. This was wrong. _So_ wrong. "They both do! We need an ambulance. No, a helicopter." She suddenly remembered the blizzard. "Shit."

Huge hands clamped down on her shoulders. "They ain't going nowhere."

She shoved his hands off, barely registering the action as the cogs busied themselves in her brain. "Mountain rescue! They might still be able –"

A growl was all the warning she received before his hand clamped around her neck and she was slammed against the wall, her feet clean off the floor. A strangely detached part of her mind wondered if she'd end up with a longer neck seeing as how his hand was so large that it seemed to stretch her head and shoulders further apart, but the rest of her took up the more rational pursuit of desperately trying to pull his hand off.

"They _ain't_ going to hospital!" he growled in her face.

"But they'll die!" she croaked.

"They will anyway! I'll skin them, chop them to pieces –"

"You can't do that, they're _people_!"

"I'll do whatever the fuck I please, frail."

"No! You can't just... _do _things like that!"

"Oh, but I do. That's who I am, frail. Ain't nobody been able to stop me before, and ain't nobody gonna stop me now. Least of all _you_."

Her fearful anger really wasn't healthy for her. She knew it even before the insults started flying out of her mouth. "You pigheaded, obstinate, overgrown –!"

A dark, almost demonic shadow eclipsed his face. The next moment he slammed her down to the floor right beside Cannelita and held her there by the neck.

But it wasn't Sofie that he attacked. Not directly. He kneeled between Cannelita's spread legs and began shredding her clothes.

"Victor, no!" The only one screaming was Sophie. Cannelita was catatonic, no awareness in her eyes whatsoever even with the claws slashing her clothes and skin.

"Please, stop! You don't have to do this! Please! Vi –"

He unzipped his trousers, tugged them down with his black underwear, and all of a sudden she lost her voice. God help her, against her own volition, she _looked_.

Her eyes almost fell out of their sockets. She had once heard that blue whales packed the largest equipment on the planet and African bull elephants the largest on land. Now she could add to the list – Victor Creed must have been the most well-endowed of the entire male population of the human race. Overgrown indeed...

Victor regained her attention with a squeeze of her neck. Caught staring, her face burned at his intensely smug sneer. He shifted, bracing himself off the floor with the hand not holding Sofie down and positioned himself at Cannelita's entrance.

Fierce brown eyes seared into horrified blue, ensuring he had her complete attention before he plunged into the body beneath him. Sofie flinched. His hand around her neck was tight enough to restrain without suffocating her, and as he built up a steady rhythm and systematically crushed the catatonic woman into the concrete floor, she was rocked in time to each and every powerful thrust and dull jingle of chains. Sofie could only stare, her mouth agape in a silent scream, feeling every slam of his hips as if he was really hammering into her. On and on he went, relentless, the pace mounting, the hand on her neck becoming hotter, tighter –

Abruptly he released her. But Sofie didn't move. She couldn't. Victor roared his release, head thrown back, bared fangs gleaming white and his neck muscles bulging, locking his crushing grip on the unresponsive body beneath him. Claws sliced through flesh, fingers crunched through bone, and the poor woman's body finally followed her mind into death.

* * *

Victor wiped himself on shreds of the woman's clothes and zipped up. He grabbed the unmoving frail under the arms and shifted her away from the spreading pools of blood, propped her into a sitting position against the wall before leaving the cell.

For several bone-chilling seconds Sofie was alone with the woman who had once been called Cannelita, accompanied only by the faint echoes of the blizzard somewhere above their heads. The screaming man had fallen silent at some point, she didn't know if he was still alive. If he was he likely wouldn't be for long. She stared aghast at the naked, bloody body, not wanting to see but finding it impossible to turn away from the grim spectre.

She quaked deep down inside, her overwrought emotions shaking, swelling, spiralling –

She only managed to tear her gaze away when Victor returned with a hose that he attached to a tap in the wall. He then moved to crouch before Sofie, studying her face, seeing the awareness returned to her eyes.

With building momentum, the pressure in her head and heart snowballed, until she burst in a great pinnacle of fury that pierced through the numbness.

She glowered belligerently at his darkly sated face.

"You're one sick piece of work, Victor Creed."

* * *

**A/N:** Blimming hell... *deep breaths*

Does anyone actually read these sorts of stories? Be great if you can let me know what you think!

~ Nyx ~


	5. Chapter 5

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N:** Has anyone ever told you how wonderful you are? Your reviews and support have been absolutely awesome, thank you all! :) I swear I have an evil alter ego that takes over when I'm writing this story – there's a hidden, twisted side of me that enjoys this a little too much... (cue evil laugh... Mwahahaha!)

Here comes our next VictorxSofie interaction. Spot the part from the story summary :)

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

Pale sunlight filtered in through the large windows and cast a gentle beam across her face, a comforting golden glow even if its weak rays held little warmth.

For several groggy and blissful – if somewhat confusing – moments, Sofie was perfectly content with no idea where she was. She sighed languorously, snuggling deeper into the plump, soft pillows. The bed was luxuriously comfortable and warm – and absolutely huge, she realised when she rolled over and peered one eye open to be met with a wide expanse of black sheets.

She contemplated this in hazy confusion, not recalling ever having had black sheets before. She opened both eyes, took in the massive bed, the massive room, the massive doorway, the massive wooden struts of the massive lodge –

Awareness came crashing back, thundering into her like a stampeding herd of wild elephants.

She bolted out of the bed, frantic eyes searching for any sign of the monster.

* * *

Half an hour later found her emerging tentatively out of the front door.

Worse than being in the home of a psychopathic monster was not knowing where said monster was and she had been driven from her room – no, definitely not _her_ room, she had corrected, just _the room she had slept in_ – out of an inherent need to place him on her radar. She had even tiptoed up to Victor's bedroom and pressed her ear against the closed door, but she had heard no sound within. There were no signs of life anywhere else in the lodge either, the whole place silent apart from the occasional creak of timber and rattle of the window shutters when the wind flurried outside.

It had taken her a long time to muster up the courage to open the front door, dreading that she might find him just on the other side. Her various conflicting fears had tugged her to and fro until it was eventually the building frustration at her own cowardice that had made her yank the solid door open.

Nothing. No growling, no slashing claws, no biting fangs. No sign of life whatsoever. The big white world was hushed, the thick blanket of snow muting all sound. The blizzard had calmed down since last night but light flecks of snow continued to fall. She shivered and wished she had something more to wear other than the same dirty, torn, bloody leggings and her thin waterproof jacket, but even if she had known where Victor had stashed her holdall she'd already seen him ruin most of the clothes she had brought.

After several tense seconds of waiting to be pounced upon and finding that she remained unscathed, she finally took cautious steps outside, straining her ears and scanning all around her. Before she knew quite where she was going, her legs had carried her to the bunker as if drawn by invisible strings.

The sight of the corrugated iron doors hit her like a sledgehammer to the head – she screwed her eyes shut but it was too late, the flashbacks had been triggered –

– _You're one sick piece of work, Victor Creed_ –

– his satisfied eyes glinting with cruel malice –

– feeling too afraid to move as he scraped a sharp claw down each of the lines marring her cheek, re-opening the grooves with deliberate, stinging emphasis –

– Victor washing away Cannelita's blood down the purpose-built drain into the middle of the cell floor –

– alone again in the cell with the gruesome corpse –

– the one-armed man's screams of renewed agony filling the bunker –

A shaky sob shuddered out of her. She hadn't been able to save Cannelita, and she'd done nothing to try and save the man. Like a total coward she had fled, not even able to look into the next cell as she had passed its open door, bolting up the stairs and out into the blizzard. She hadn't got very far, of course. Victor had caught her within moments. She had screamed and kicked and punched and scratched, to no avail. She'd somehow remembered his deal to give her till dawn and reminded him of it, but he'd calmly crushed the notion by informing her that in her current irrational state she wasn't fit to be out there on her own. He'd easily carried her back to the lodge, thrown her into _the room she had slept in_, and locked the door.

Only then did she remember that the door had been unlocked that morning. And she distinctly remembered curling up in the corner of the room, on the floor under a table. She hadn't been anywhere near the bed when she'd fallen fitfully into an exhausted sleep...

The disturbing notion of Victor putting her in the bed served to jar her out of her numb trance.

She blinked, and her brain finally registered what her eyes had been staring at – the closed entrance to the bunker. With fierce resolve she forced her legs forward, grasped the handles and pulled. The iron doors didn't even budge. She heaved again, as hard as she could, but achieved nothing but a strain in her shoulders. The futility of the attempt seemed to be the final confirmation in her mind that the man was dead.

She clenched her fists, breathing deep, fighting the intense wave of fear, shock and guilt. She bit down on her lips and ended up wincing when her teeth caught the inflamed cut where Victor's fang had cut her during his brutal kiss.

But it was the last nudge that she needed. _Enough!_ her thoughts yelled at her. _Get your act together, Sofie!_

She had to leave. She couldn't bear to bring any more pain and death on anyone else. Blaine would keep sending people after her, and Victor would keep killing them. Incredibly, a small part of her didn't want Victor to be hurt either, even if he most likely deserved it and would have just healed anyway. It didn't matter who it was, she just didn't want any more blood to be shed over her.

There was no sign of Victor, here was her chance. But she also knew that he would simply come after her as soon as he found her gone. Was there anything she could do that might reduce that likelihood even a little? Thinking furiously for a few moments, she spun on her heel and stomped back to the lodge. Adding to the melted puddles of snow and mud on the previously pristine floor from when the men had barged in the previous night, she marched into the den, found a pen and a pad of paper, and scrawled a hasty note:

_Blaine will keep coming after me.  
I can't inconvenience you any further.  
Sorry for disrupting your life.  
Sofie_

Would he buy it? She read over her scratchy handwriting and winced. Only a total dickwad would fall for it, which unfortunately for her Victor wasn't. Still, she couldn't not try. She left the note on the bed in _the room she had slept in_, closed the door so he would only find it when he went in looking for her, and headed straight back out into the snow.

* * *

Sofie saw the sleek outlines of the pursuing wolves long before she heard them. She ran for her life, adrenaline injecting a fresh burst of energy in her and making her forget that her limbs were heavy and aching after hours of trekking through steep, snow-filled valleys in freezing temperatures. She aimed for the cover of large trees a short distance ahead. If she could just climb up into one of them...

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw one of the grey wolves draw level, then pull ahead. Of course the wolves were faster, they would be even if she wasn't stumbling and slipping about in the snow. She snatched at a thick, stubbly branch as she rushed past, her momentum helping her to snap it into her gloved hand. A second quickly followed. Although she knew they wouldn't fare too long in the wolves' jaws, they felt solid in her hands and were a comfort nonetheless.

She pulled up short as the leading wolf swung around and turned towards her, directly in her path. It had mottled black, tan and white fur that hung somewhat limply on its thin frame but it was still a large creature – the way it was snarling at her with its head hanging low from bunched up shoulders, it looked almost as large as the pelts adorning Victor's walls. And, frustratingly, directly behind it was the tree she'd been aiming for, its branches sweeping low and wide but reaching high enough that it could have kept her out of reach of the wolves.

She was gasping, each breath of frozen air stabbing her lungs. There were three of them, slowly closing in from different sides. She kept turning slowly, brandishing the thick sticks to try to keep the wolves at bay. They had probably marked her as fatigued and naturally weak, as well as lame, even though her thigh was feeling remarkably better after Victor had licked it. _Wolves don't attack from the front_, somebody had once told her. She had no idea if it was true or not but she wasn't taking any chances. She tried to keep her fear at bay as she glared into their shining icy blue eyes so much like her own.

She had been aware of the high probability that she was walking to her death heading out alone into the mountains in such bad weather, inappropriately attired and not equipped in the slightest. But she couldn't have stayed, not after last night. She wondered at Victor's reaction when he returned to find her gone leaving only a note. Had he seen it already? Would it be enough to convince him? Would he be relieved? ... Or furious?

She shuddered at the thought. Maybe she ought to be glad that these wolves were circling her, snarling and drooling. At least they would only eat her. She had no wish to discover what the mutant's reaction might be if he wasn't pleased with her leaving.

Suddenly she was attacked from behind and such thoughts vanished. Two heavy paws slammed into her back, sending her flat into the snow. She rolled, swinging the sticks blindly, felt one of them connect with a solid _thunk_ that jarred all the way up her arm. Another lucky blow knocked away a second wolf that had crept up from the side and she scurried back to her feet. Something scraped her arm but she barely noticed.

She yelled a battle cry. She had no idea where it came from but it helped spur her on, and as one of the wolves leaped at her again she batted it back with a double blow against its head. They circled, more wary but no less hungry or determined.

"Is that all you've got?" she hollered at them. "Huh? Is that all you can do? I'm right here, come and get me!"

They snarled, hunching low to the ground. She saw one of them creeping around behind her.

"Oh no you don't!"

She rushed at one of the two in front of her to distance herself from the one stalking behind, thwacking her target with multiple blows as she leaped by, dodging teeth and claws, spinning in the air to face them again as she once again placed all three in her line of vision.

She laughed, slightly hysterically. "Never thought I'd last this long, did ya?"

She spoke too soon. Her heel connected with a rock and she went toppling backwards. One of the wolves leaped at her, sharp canines looming larger, its hot rancid breath on her face –

A huge figure burst upon them. The wolf gave a pained whimper as it was sent hurtling ten feet away by a giant, clawed paw. The figure stood over her, roaring the stuff of nightmares and unmistakably staking his claim to the prey. The three wolves assessed the new predator for a split moment before they slunk away, tails between their legs.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Sofie scrambled backwards out from under Victor's legs, somehow managing to come to her feet.

He had found her. He had tracked her down even through all the fresh snowfall, over the mountain and across the deep ravine that she had painstakingly navigated. And she had the answer to her earlier question – he wasn't relieved at all. Not in the slightest. He was pissed as hell, his burning eyes impaling her with animalistic fury. Terror clenched her in a death grip.

He advanced on her, one slow predatory step at a time, fangs still bared, claws extended.

"Gonna try that shit on _me_ now?" he snarled, looking meaningfully at the sticks still clutched desperately in her hands then back into her eyes.

She hadn't realized that she was still holding them, raised before her as if they could somehow ward him off. She took one more glance at his ferocious appearance and forced her fingers to loosen, to drop them. Of their own accord her trembling hands rose in a futile, placating gesture as she backed away from him.

"Vi-Victor..."

With a rumbling roar he was upon her, a huge hand lifting her clean off the ground by the throat and slamming her against the very tree she had previously been aiming for. The already scarce air was knocked from her lungs and she couldn't have screamed if she tried.

This was the third time he had grabbed her by the neck but she realised instantly that he'd never been seriously strangling her before. He certainly was now. She couldn't draw even a molecule of air into her starved lungs. The blood pressure built up painfully in her head within seconds, and accentuating the pain were his razor-sharp claws piercing into the flesh of her neck. Judging from the fact that she didn't immediately die it appeared that they had miraculously avoided rupturing any major arteries – or, more probably, he knew exactly where they all were and deliberately avoided them.

Victor leaned close, wicked claws penetrated deep into her neck, eyes blazing and fangs on full display on his terrifyingly handsome face.

"You. Are. Mine," he snarled, his rumbling voice simmering with warning. "You hear me, frail?"

She nodded as much as she was able, her vision starting to go dark with starry dots. Her mind was a painful, terrified blank canvas and she scarcely knew what she was agreeing to, but she would have agreed to just about anything at this point.

"Say it!"

He somehow managed to tighten his claws into her neck whilst easing off on her windpipe. She heaved a few desperately needed breaths and some of the darkness receded. He snarled, impatient.

"...'m yours..." she husked, her hoarse voice breaking under all the strain.

"Louder," he growled, tightening his grip on her throat again.

"– yours!" she croaked, desperate for reprieve.

"You don't go _anywhere_ without me telling you. I love a good chase but I'll hunt when I want to hunt. You go sneaking off again and you'll be screaming for days and begging me to kill you. You hear me?"

She nodded.

He growled threateningly.

"I hear you," she added quickly.

He glared at her for another second. Then he retracted his claws and dropped her.

She crumbled onto the snow-covered roots by his feet, lungs heaving, legs shaking so badly that they couldn't support her weight. Her back and the back of her head throbbed from the impact against the tree and there were multiple throbbing points on her neck, but she knew that it would have been broken if that been his intention. She couldn't even begin to guess what he had in store for her now.

"Up," he growled.

She did her best, pushing on weak limbs, but his patience ran out first and he reached down, hauled her up by her upper arms and shoved her against the tree to prop her up. His angry gaze searched her from head to toe.

"You're a fucking mess."

She trembled wide-eyed as he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked it none too gently, exposing one side of her neck as he had done the day before. He inhaled all the way along her neck, traced the biting tip of one of his fangs along the successive puncture marks, then started licking the wounds with the same meticulous attention he'd given the gash in her thigh.

Déjà vu. She had got absolutely nowhere – in fact all she had achieved was to make Victor royally pissed at her and likely to keep a much closer eye on her, besides which she was now considerably colder, starving, exhausted, much more terrified, and sported five fresh claw wounds in her neck and maybe a mild concussion for her troubles. It was terrifying to think what he'd do to her now, considering all he'd done the day before when he'd been in a downright jolly mood by comparison. The gory deaths of six men, and Cannelita...

Oh dear God, _That Which She Should Never Have Seen_ flashed up vividly in her mind's eye.

To the day she died, for the life of her she would never understand what happened next. Even with this bloodthirsty psychopathic rapist trapping her against the tree, even with her neck freshly wounded by his sharp, angry claws, even with his dagger-like fangs a hair's breadth from her neck, the frighteningly glorious image of his pure masculinity combined with his swirling tongue on her neck had the most peculiar effect on her. To her complete and utter stupefaction, Sofie felt warmth spread through her and pool between her legs.

She froze. And not a second later, so did he.

Victor's nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply, then he snapped upright as if he'd been slapped. He yanked her hair back, forcing her to look up at him as he stared at her hard.

Mortified blue eyes darted up to his as it dawned on her that heightened olfactory senses might also be another of his mutations – he always seemed to be sniffing her, after all – and he could likely smell the change in her.

Had she finally lost it? Succumbed to madness after teetering for so long on the precipice of fear and the threat of death?

Slowly, he transferred her hair into his other hand and pulled her head the other way to expose the larger puncture made by his thumb claw. She tried to writhe away but there was no escaping his vice-like grip on her hair. Again he leaned in, inhaling deeply along the curve of her neck. His eyes were only inches from hers when he grinned at her – looking entirely wolfish, in her frazzled opinion – before he closed his lips over the wound.

It had been bad enough when he'd simply been treating her wound. But now he was practically_ suckling_ her, teasing her flushed skin with deliberate swirls of his tongue and nibbling with his lips. His fangs grazed her neck and sent electric jolts across her skin. Her knees buckled. She barely noticed as he slipped an arm around her waist but she absolutely couldn't fail to notice when he drew her off the tree and pulled her flush against his hard body.

She gasped, the realization of where she was and who was holding her like a bucket of icy water being upended on her head, and tried to shove against his shoulders to fight him off. His grip tightened around her, the hand that had been grasping her hair now sliding behind her head and securing his hold with sharp claws. There was no escaping his ministrations, not if she didn't want her skull pierced. She was breathless and afraid but not entirely for the same reasons as before. She hated him, she didn't want him anywhere near her, but her body seemed to have developed a mind of its own and Victor in turn seemed determined to draw that part of her out.

He drew back just enough to hover inches from her flushed face. His eyes were lit with a cruel, dark hunger that sent her stomach squirming to the soles of her feet.

"Kiss me," he growled huskily.

"..._What_? No!"

"You want me."

"No!"

"Your smell says otherwise."

She glowered at him. "I nearly _died_! _Twice_, thanks to you! My body's just over-reacting to being alive."

A sly grin teased his lips. "Then maybe I should _almost_ kill you more often."

"You've already done enough of that, let go of me!" She struggled anew; he merely squeezed his arm around her waist, pulled her tighter against him.

"Not till you admit you want me."

"I. Do. Not," she hissed, her eyes blazing.

"You sure about that, frail?"

"Duh!" she huffed, incensed. "After everything you've done?"

"Kiss me."

"In your dreams, Victor."

His smirking face leaned closer, so close in fact that they were breathing the same air. "Your choice, frail. Kiss me – and make it good, like you _really_ can't get enough of me – or I'll fuck you right here."

Renewed horror swept across her face. "I - I've got a better idea, why don't you just let me go, forget you ever met me, and go back to your life."

"Too late for that," he informed her, tracing the red lines on her cheeks. "You're mine now."

It was only then that Sofie realised just what those cuts meant. He'd _marked_ her, branding her as his.

"And you agreed," he reminded her smugly.

She recalled her terrified words of only minutes ago with great dismay. "I was under duress!"

His mouth quirked. "And what else would you do _under duress_?" His arm around her waist slid lower – her breath caught as one massive paw grasped her rear, pulled her impossibly closer as he ground his hardening groin into her. "Kiss me like you want me, or let yourself be fucked senseless?"

She was shaking her head in mute horror.

"I personally wouldn't care which you choose, frail. You've got three seconds. Three."

"What – no – I – Victor, please, this is ridiculous!"

"Two." He pressed his groin into her, letting her feel his hardening anticipation.

"No! No no no no no, don't do this –"

"One."

There was a frozen second where neither of them moved, her desperate, pleading eyes locked on his hot, merciless gaze, then she rushed to press her lips to his before he deemed he'd got to zero.

She did nothing else for a moment, getting over the shock and revulsion that she was actually having to kiss him, then she tried to put a bit more into it. She forced herself to move her lips over his, to make it sensual – practically a lost cause when this was the last thing on Earth she wanted to be doing – with the singular exception of his even worse alternative, of course. That thought spurred more effort.

His tongue flicked against her lips. He could have forced his way in but he didn't, instead waiting until she parted her lips for him. He was horribly gentle, making her lead the kiss, leaving her no option but to take an active part in this forced intimacy. She continued kissing him with as much vigour as she could force herself to muster, dancing her tongue around his, until she considered that it had been more than an adequate length of time and broke away.

"You can let go now," she ground out, leaning as far away from him as she could with their hips still pressed together, wanting to grab some snow to clean the taste of him out of her mouth.

He grinned darkly, his gaze hot. "I don't think so."

Her eyes flew to his, aghast. "But I did as you said!"

"I suppose it'll do. But now..." He stroked her cheek almost benignly. "Now, it's my turn."

He crushed his mouth on hers. This was an entirely different sort of kiss, one to declare his dominance over her. The hand that had caressed her cheek shifted to squeeze her jaw and his tongue plunged into her mouth. His fang scraped her lower lip again with a sharp sting, although she fully believed that this time he did it deliberately, and he gave a rumbling purr at the taste of her blood.

Sofie could do little more than endure, shoving against his boulder-like shoulders which only seemed to excite him more, fighting for air when his tongue wasn't so far down her throat that he seemed to be eating her tonsil out. Panic welled up inside her as she wondered if he'd break the deal and end up raping her anyway, and a small whimper escaped her.

She felt his lips curl in a smile. "One of these days," he growled against her mouth, "I'll have you screaming for me."

Finally finding some leeway, she jerked her head away. Her reply was practically a snarl. "Go to hell, Victor."

He chuckled. "Maybe one day."

* * *

**A/N:** ooooooooh... Things are getting an eentsy bit hotter between them, hope you liked it?

~ Nyx ~

PS Keep letting me know what parts you especially liked, I'll try putting more in :)


	6. Chapter 6

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1. Plus I've blatantly borrowed some lines from Origins here.

**A/N: **I'm a bit worried about what your response might be to this chapter. I'm happy with it, it develops the story and the general interaction between characters, it's just not overtly *hot* . Though I reckon there's still Hot in a form that I don't think anyone was expecting...

I'm not making any sense, am I? Shall I just shut up and let you get on with it? Alrighty then. *zips mouth*

*unzips mouth* Someone tries to throw a spanner in the works! *rezips mouth*

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

Victor frogmarched her in what she assumed was the direction of his lodge, although to her it looked the same as any other direction in the large expanse of snowy mountain.

She stumbled several times, unable to see the uneven ground beneath the drifts of snow. Victor seemed to have no such difficulties. He was always right on her heels, growling impatiently as he hauled her back to her feet and kept breathing down her neck. She once even tipped head-over-heels down a sharp incline and was convinced for all of several spinning seconds that she would crack her head open on a rock or tree. However it was neither of those things that she crashed into, but Victor, as he leaped ahead of her and stopped her fall by letting her slam bodily into him. Bruised, dishevelled, dizzy, snow going down her back, and winded more from the impact against Victor than her actual tumble – she swore he was laughing meanly at her the whole time – she experienced another horrible moment of déjà vu as he threw her over his shoulder and loped back up the hill and back onto their path. It seemed to be his favored method of transporting meat.

She'd managed to keep herself from freezing over completely in the last several hours with her vigorous walking and climbing, but now as he carted her along immobile on his shoulder the cold really set in. Starting with her teeth chattering, her whole body was soon shivering, a faint trembling becoming progressively more pronounced.

"Quit it, frail," he warned.

She clean forgot about his ridiculous hearing when she muttered to herself, "As if I'm shivering on purpose..."

With an irritated grunt he shrugged her off and onto her feet. Onto her _dead_ feet. The cold and sudden inactivity had done the heavy build-up of lactic acid in her legs no favours and they were about as useful as jello. She collapsed immediately.

Victor took one look at her bundled heap on the ground and shook his head. "Fucking frail." To her utter dismay, he then unzipped his coat and scooped her up in his arms, not only bridal style but cocooned against his shirt _inside his coat_, and resumed their previous heading.

"I can walk!" she protested, trying to squirm free.

"Sure you can. And I'm a fucking angel." His arm under her knees was circled back around under her to her butt and he dug his claws in, not too painfully but it was enough to stop her struggling.

She had covered quite a lot of ground although not always in a straight line and it still took them another hour taking the most direct route back to the lodge at his much faster pace. By then the sun was beginning to set and temperatures were dropping further, but she was remarkably warm and for that she was secretly grateful. Acutely uncomfortable sharing his body heat, of course, but grateful. She didn't need to add frostbite to her already extensive index of wounds and the warmth had worked wonders in returning the feeling in her tired legs.

He dropped her as they neared the lodge, she tottered for a moment then managed to stand. She looked up –

They had approached from the side of the bunker and at the sight, all of a sudden she was consumed by fresh, fevered desperation. She really couldn't be here!

"I have to go –"

He roared at her. Her throat constricted, cutting her off.

"Are you fucking stupid, frail? We've been over this!"

She wondered if he'd read her note at all, it hadn't been a lie. Probably just sniffed the place, realized she was gone and pounded straight after her. "I know, but you don't understand! Blaine isn't going to give up, he knows where I am now and –"

"Yeah, I got your fucking note," – OK, so he had – "Don't think you can get all cute with me. You don't want to _inconvenience_ me? What a fucking laugh."

She shrunk under his fierce glower but she couldn't let it go. "He's not going to just forget about me. It'll be a matter of pride now, it doesn't look good that he can't control his own wife and he'll absolutely hate that people would be laughing behind his back. He's got plenty of money to hire more guns –"

"Do you know how many I've killed?" He began advancing on her slowly, making her back up if she didn't want to be ploughed over.

He didn't wait for a reply.

"At least hundreds, probably thousands. And I've enjoyed every scream, every drop of blood, every life I took. Men and mobs and wars have tried to waste me so many fucking times I can't even count. You think it's ever worked?"

Clearly not, otherwise he wouldn't be threatening her right now. She shook her head, stepping back slowly as he loomed towards her like a giant tornado about to snap her in two.

"And you think I'd just roll over for Castro and whatever puny shit he might be able to scrape together?"

Her heel hit something solid and she fell flat on her backside – it was the first step up to the porch. Before she could go any further he'd crouched in front of and over her, his bent knees hovering over her thighs, one elbow resting on his knee and the other arm dangling close to her side. He wasn't touching her but her skin prickled from phantom sensations at his proximity.

His expression changed into something she couldn't read other than to say that it was highly disturbing. There was a nasty edge in his dark eyes that made her want to deposit the contents of her bladder in her underwear.

"I ain't gonna say this again," he said in a silky, soft voice that gave her goosebumps. "If anyone else comes after you, I'll fucking kill them. If I ever hear another peep outa you about leaving, I'll fucking kill _you_. You're mine and you're gonna keep me happy if you want to live. You hear me, frail?"

Her mouth opened but no sound emerged.

With dangerous calm he arched an expectant brow.

"Yes Victor," she managed to grate out of her too-dry mouth.

"I hope you do, frail. 'Cos I fucking hate repeating myself. Make me say it again and I'll carve it onto your skin so you can't forget it." His dark gaze travelled along the twin lines, not touching her but still managing to make her cheek burn in its wake.

"Get dinner going. I'm fucking hungry."

He loped off around the side of the lodge and a moment later she heard the heavy groan of iron.

* * *

She was too stunned to move, gripped by a creeping realisation that gradually crawled into her mind and sought purchase.

Victor was never going to let her go.

It dawned slowly but with frightening certainty. He would be the last person she'd ever see, the last person she'd ever interact with. She wasn't going to live to a grand old age, she was his toy to play with and terrify until he got bored of her. He would be the death of her, her final moments painful and horrific –

She didn't quite know what happened next. One moment she was sitting there reeling from her moment of enlightenment, and the next she'd been snatched up by powerful arms and was staring at a blur of the landscape rushing by.

Straight away she was almost certain that it wasn't Victor, the arm about her waist didn't feel the same. Then she heard the growl and she _definitely_ knew it wasn't Victor.

_What now?_

Whoever it was, she clung tightly to his dark jacket, afraid of falling or being dropped at this breakneck speed as he pelted their way across the valley. Peering up, she saw scruffy dark brown hair and mutton chops that were now sadly all too familiar. This man might have had a slightly sharper line of nose and thinner lips but, rather startlingly, his feral eyes were a carbon copy of Victor's.

Speak of the devil...

"_JIMMYYYYYY_!"

The man didn't even flinch at the roar that filled the valley, only setting his brow in a fierce scowl.

"Hold on, kiddo," he mumbled as he pushed on, legs pumping like pistons, driving on as dusk gathered and the moon became the brightest object in the sky.

_Kiddo?_ Sofie suddenly felt a small grin crack on her face despite herself. It had been a loooong time since anyone had called her that. But the next moment her mirth evaporated – she felt all the blood drain from her face as a black blurry mass barrelled towards them on all fours.

The man abruptly screeched to a halt, turned to face Victor hurtling towards them and set her down behind him.

"Get back," he snapped.

She didn't need to be told twice. She darted behind a tree, her heart pounding, and peered out cautiously.

The man leapt sideways to avoid the full force of Victor's crash, but fierce claws swung out and caught him in the ribs tearing him clean to the flesh before he could get clear. It barely seemed to faze him, he simply growled as Victor skidded to a halt amidst a spray of rocks and snow and they faced off. The man was slighter in stature but their ferocious glares were identical.

"Tell me something, Jimmy," Victor taunted. "Do you even know how to kill me?"

"I'm gonna cut your goddamned head off, see if that works!"

Victor laughed. The man surged forwards and Sofie saw three long, white claws shoot out of his fists before they were lost in a blur of movement.

They clawed and sliced at each other, drawing plenty of blood, but the wounds seemed to heal constantly as they viciously continued hacking away at each other. Victor clawed great gashes into the man's bicep, the man swung with his other arm and took a chunk out of his. He went to follow up and slash the triple claws across Victor's face, but the larger mutant knocked them aside with his own claws and connected a solid fist into the side of the man's head. He crashed down but made use of his low position to sweep Victor's legs out from under him. Victor flipped, but managed to twist in the air to grab hold of the man's ankle and as Victor straightened he swung the man by the leg over his head. The man's heel connected with Victor's jaw which bought him a moment's reprieve before they pounced on each other again.

Both men were spitting and snarling as they dealt one vicious blow after another, shredding each other's jackets and shirts in no time, leaving their bared, ripped torsos gleaming in the moonlit dusk.

The turning point came not long after as they came worryingly close to the tree Sofie was hiding behind. The man overreached, missed as Victor ducked inside the target range of his claws. Victor buried his fangs into the man's shoulder and, having secured him in place, proceeded to cleave out almost half of his gut in one huge swipe. The man roared savagely, flinging the larger mutant off of him with a strength Sofie could only dream she had, but as the stranger retreated closer to the tree he collapsed to his hands and knees.

"You don't ever change, do you runt?" Victor said, breathing heavily as he stalked towards him. "Always so fucking weak."

The man pushed back to his feet, but he staggered and fell again to one knee, a hand steadying him against the tree. He wasn't dead but he didn't seem to heal as fast as Victor, and by the way Victor was advancing on him it didn't look like he had much time left.

_Not again!_ He was turned away from her but she stared intently at the back of his head, willing him to live.

"Leave her be, Victor." The man's voice was hoarse, an unhealthy gurgle underlying every raspy breath. The sound of a dying man.

"You know me, Jimmy. I can't do that."

The man shook his head. "I'll make you eat your own shit one of these days, old man."

Victor grinned ruthlessly. "Ooh, I'm so scared."

He grabbed his hair. But instead of fighting it the man followed the motion and swung his claws up as if to slice off the arm. Victor simply caught the wrist, forced it to the ground and stamped down on the claws.

The man bellowed as they broke with a sickening triple succession of _snap–snap–snap_.

Victor drew up, claws extended, ready to smash down on the man's head –

"No!" Before Sofie even knew what she was doing she'd dashed out from behind the tree and threw herself over the man.

Victor pulled the blow at the last moment, managed to avoid killing her by a hair's breadth. He growled at her furiously. "_Fuck_, frail! Stay outa this!"

The man was also growling at her and pushed her behind him. He was surprisingly strong for a man at death's door. "I told you to get back," he hissed.

Undeterred, she stubbornly rushed in front of him again. Only then did she see the man's bloody, gaping wound exposing more torn organs than she could possibly identify by sight. How the _hell_ was this man still alive, let alone conscious?

She glared at Victor with fierce zeal, her arms flung wide, making a human shield of herself. "Please don't kill him!"

"Kill him?" Victor barked a short, angry laugh. "Don't even know if that's possible. Is it, runt?"

"Nothing's ever been able to kill us before," the man rasped behind her.

Those words were too odd. They implied familiarity, a shared history...

Victor smirked at her hesitation. "You ain't got no idea who this is, have you?"

There was a soft thud behind her. She risked a glance behind to see that the man had sat down on the roots of the tree, leaning against the bark, his face ashen and drawn as the huge hole in his gut healed by slow inches.

It seemed they were at a temporary truce. Her eyes flickered back to Victor. He folded his thick arms over his broad, gleaming chest, covered in splodges of blood from wounds already healed.

"Meet Jimmy, frail. My fucking brother."

* * *

She was vaguely aware of staring. The man moved his hand just enough to give her a cynical wave, not even smiling. "Name's Logan."

She nodded dumbly. "Of course you are." She was still thinking of this man being Victor's brother. After the extraordinary two days that she'd had - was it _really_ only early the previous day when the mutant had interrupted her altercation with Freddy?! – this talk now about siblings seemed bizarrely too _normal_, and blasé sarcasm seemed to be the only way she was able to respond. "Of couse. 'Cos that's what you do when you have a brother like Victor, right? You try to kill each other. Just another perfectly ordinary day. Hi Logan. I'm Sofie, not that Victor ever calls me that."

A heavy hand draped around her neck, drew her back against a hard chest. She gulped, tension suddenly leaping through her frame as she instinctively grabbed Victor's arm. His hold was loose but it didn't have to be tight to be threatening. She knew exactly what he was capable of.

Logan or Jimmy, whatever his name was, growled and tensed, but remained in his seating position as his sharp eyes flickered from one to the other. Sofie doubted he could have got up even if he'd wanted to.

Victor leaned his chin against her head, a gentle pressure that was entirely ominous. "You've got a choice to make, frail. You wanna go with Jimmy or stay with me?"

Did he really think she was that stupid? Or was it just the first test to see if she'd heeded the warning that he'd threatened to carve onto her? She liked her skin as it was, thank you very much. "Gee, ooh, let me think!" she exclaimed with overblown enthusiasm.

Jimmy frowned as if he couldn't quite tell if she'd understood Victor's veiled threat.

"Frail," Victor warned. He understood well enough but wanted a straight-up answer, partly for Jimmy's ears.

"It's hardly a choice is it?" she snapped over her shoulder.

"_Frail_," Victor warned again, squeezing her neck a little this time for emphasis.

"I'm staying, I'm staying!" she croaked.

"Right answer." He eased up on the pressure and locked his eyes with his brother's hard glower. "Don't try and come for her again, Jimmy. If you do, next time, _she_'ll pay for it."

"You're a fucking animal," Jimmy growled.

"Damn right," Victor agreed smugly as if it had been a compliment. Then he shoved her forwards, hard, so she was thrown to the ground next to Jimmy. "Smell her."

Both Sofie and Jimmy looked up at him, one in confusion, the other with simmering anger.

"What –" Sofie began, but was cut off as Jimmy turned towards her and sniffed.

She drew back, conscious that she hadn't showered in days and was most likely as fragrant as a pig. Jimmy's frown deepened as he seemed to detect something he didn't expect, and he grabbed her arm and drew her closer to have a better sniff.

He looked up at Victor. "You haven't fucked her."

Victor sneered as her jaw dropped.

"Oh, for God's sake! What is it with you two?" she exclaimed, yanking her arm free and coming angrily to her feet. "Enough. About. The _fucking_!"

She glared at Jimmy, but her ire rapidly deflated at the sight of his bloody, horribly injured body gradually reforming itself.

"Sorry, kiddo," Logan mumbled.

And that just made it worse. He'd tried to save her, and now look at him... She found herself speaking with a voice she hadn't used since she'd last seen her Pa on his deathbed. "You're alright, Logan. If Victor's not going to have kittens having you in the lodge, you're welcome to join us for dinner once you've healed up. Otherwise, take care of yourself."

He gave her the smallest farewell nod and she turned away. Throwing Victor a glare of renewed hostility, she began marching off up the hill.

She heard Jimmy growling quietly behind her. "I've been smelling her for two days now, Victor, the hell are you playing at?"

Fortunately her noisy stomping drowned out Victor's reply. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

The moon was bright and the sky still not entirely black, but all the shadows and snow merged into an indistinct wash of grey. Unsure footing as well as exhausted legs made for slow progress and Victor soon caught up. He tossed her over his shoulder – she rolled her eyes but the direct contact with his hot skin over rolling, powerful muscles had her nervously swallowing any complaints.

"Is he coming?" she asked instead.

His grunt sounded vaguely like a No. She wasn't surprised.

* * *

**A/N:** So... are you still reading? I hope so! *peers out from behinds hands*

Next chapter's shaping up, watch this space! :)

~ Nyx ~


	7. Chapter 7

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N:** There was a good question about where in the _X-Men_ timeline this story fitted, all I'd vaguely indicated is that this is some time after Jimmy leaves Stryker's team. It's AU so it deviates from the canons and I wouldn't try to pinpoint it too accurately, but as a rough guide, Senator Kelly appears much later so this is several decades after when Jimmy actually left the team and Victor behind, but Liberty Island and everything that followed hasn't happened so Jimmy still has his memories intact. Jimmy and Victor are both in the Canadian Rockies, but as for what they're doing there within sniffing distance of each other – you'll just have to wait and see as Sofie learns about it!

For those of you who thought Victor was being "nice" wrapping her up inside his coat, I have two words for you: Ulterior Motive. Seriously, Victor being nice? Think again my friends! This chapter is mainly from his perspective so we see exactly what deliciously evil thoughts are running through his gorgeous head.

And goodness me, did I have sooo much fun writing this. Longest chapter yet by far! Victor steps things up another notch and things get HOT. **EXTRA WARNING** (just in case anyone has remarkably managed to drift here absently without seeing any of the other warnings I've plastered in big black bold letters at the top of every chapter) – this is **ADULT RATED**.

Enjoy! :)

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

Victor prowled endless circles around the large four-poster in the middle of his room, a growl rumbling steadily from his chest as he roughly towel-dried his hair.

_I've been smelling her for two days now, Victor, the hell are you playing at?_

_Same as always, runt. Whatever the fuck I feel like._

He always got riled up after running into Jimmy but there was a satisfying aftertaste to this encounter. The runt had been suspicious, and rightly so. Victor intended to get more out of this frail than the usual fuck and kill, not that Jimboy was ever happy about _that_ either. Fucking killjoy.

He chucked the damp towel in the wash basket, pulling on some black jeans as he mulled over his game plan for the frail. An intriguing idea had been taking root since he'd plucked her from the jaws of the wolves, although the seed might have been planted even before that.

Thing was, he wanted to seduce her. Not that he wanted to seduce her _per se_, it was the internal conflict of her hating his guts but still finding herself impossibly aroused and helpless to resist him that sent his blood rushing south.

He'd never had a frail getting all flushed over him before. Sure, when he was raping them he sometimes forced pleasure on them and made them come – he got an extra kick adding to their mental anguish if he happened to be feeling patient enough to pull it off – but when the smell of her arousal had hit him he'd merely been treating the wounds on her neck. He racked his brains for what could have got her all hot, but the only thing that occurred to him was her blushing beetroot when he'd caught her staring at his engorged member the previous night. Maybe that was it.

Anyway, whatever. Important thing was that she'd been affected enough to overcome her considerable fear at the time. And she'd been as confused as he was, he'd seen it clearly on her face. It just made it all the more fun to torment her with it.

He swung around, pulling a t-shirt on as he wore tracks into the floorboards in the opposite direction.

Frail was ripe for something different to the norm. There'd already been the start of something unusual when he'd made her watch him fucking the useless, catatonic woman instead of forcing himself on her as he normally would've done, and when he'd forced her into kissing him he'd been surprised at what a fucking buzz it was – it wasn't that he particularly cared about the act, he'd simply enjoyed himself so much precisely because _she didn't_.

And she could act as timid and pathetic as the rest of them but when push came to shove, bloody hell did she get all fired up. He'd been too furious with her trying to run off that he hadn't noticed at the time, but he could now appreciate the way she'd fought agaisnt the wolves – she had it in her to fight _him_ just as hard and it fuelled the feral in him, made him want to utterly dominate her. What a fucking turn-on.

There was already something to work with – she'd almost been overwhelmed for a moment when he'd actually started putting his mind to it. Would she get heated up about him again? He'd seen enough of the effects a close call with death had on people and knew she hadn't been far off the mark when she'd insisted her body was just over-reacting to being alive. Everyone reacted in their own ways but it wasn't an uncommon reaction to be especially horny after brushing with death, as if a good fuck was a reaffirmation of life.

He could recreate the effects so easily he could've done it in his sleep, but the question was, could he break her, without breaking her? Could he melt down her resistance, without breaking her of that fire she had inside that already had his prick straining at the thought?

It would take time and he'd have to keep her around, relatively unscathed, for longer than he was used to. But he didn't find her as annoying and inane as the usual shit, she was already running on a record of Longest Time Survived with Victor Creed so he might actually be able to keep himself from hacking herself to pieces for long enough to see it through. And if it failed or if he got bored or if he simply got sick of having her around, for whatever reason if he changed his mind he could always just finish her off in the same old way. He sighed. How fucking dull.

His ears pricked up as he heard soft footsteps pause outside the door.

"Victor?"

To have _her_ coming to _him_, reluctant but needing his touch, hating him and herself equally as she lay naked and flushed and writhing beneath him, screaming his name... The prospect made his eyes darken with hard lust, his crotch become even tighter.

"Victor?" came her soft, hesitant voice again. "Dinner's ready."

He flung the door open just as she'd raised her fist to knock and she sprang away with a comical flurry of arms. He mentally stripped her naked, raking her with a scorching look all the way down her body and back up again to those bright, oh-so-expressive eyes filling with alarm at the look on his face –

With conscious effort he propelled his feet towards the kitchen before he ended up grabbing her right there on the spot. "Let's go eat, then."

He could imagine her hot and eager for him, angry and hateful but still uncontrollably wet, those eyes glassy with heady pleasure. Oh, _fuck _yes...

* * *

Frail had obviously detected something of his thoughts and was especially quiet and wary all through dinner, keeping him plied with food as if to distract him. She didn't even once ask about Jimmy and he knew she'd easily prattle off a hundred questions if he gave her half a chance.

Once he'd hoovered up the sizeable meal she'd prepared – reminding him of another reason to keep her around for the time being – she started cleaning the hallway and corridors of all the muck that had been trampled in by the men the previous night, blatantly as a way to keep herself out of his way rather than that she was wanting to clean up for him. Once she was done outside the den where he was, he heard her stashing the broom and mop back in the cupboard in the kitchen and sneak off to the spare room. He listened, waiting until she reached the door. Let her get her hopes up.

He heard the creak of the door handle. "You missed a room, frail."

He heard her stop, then swallow. With obviously reluctant steps she retrieved the supplies from the kitchen and came through into the den. Victor waved vaguely at the mess on the floor with his beer bottle.

He was reclined on a jumbo settee with his legs stretched out over large padded stool, and from his comfortable position he kept his eyes on her as she nervously cleaned around him. It was all very domestic but he spent the time wondering if he should make her do it stark naked and found it didn't piss him off as it usually would have.

He didn't give her the opportunity to escape when she was finished. "Put the shit away and get back here."

Looking irritatingly frightened – he had no idea why it was pissing him off so much, he usually fucking loved it when frails were terrified – she returned the stuff to the kitchen and dragged her feet back to the den. He sat up, dropping his feet to the clean floor.

"C'mere."

Could anyone _move_ any slower? He rolled his eyes. "Would you fucking _move_ it?"

She flinched and made better progress. He snatched at her wrist when she was within range and yanked her the rest of the way, guiding her by the hips to stand between his legs. She unerringly followed his every movement like a trapped deer.

He plucked the scanner off the table and flicked a few buttons, waving it over her as he looked at the small inbuilt screen.

"... What's that?"

He wondered if he'd missed the memo saying she could ask questions whenever. But they were the first words she'd spoken since calling him for dinner and her timid silence had bothered him more than her speaking out of turn. He let it pass. "Signal receiver of the tracker, the one the Castro boy had."

He smirked as she tensed with realisation.

"Yeah, I went back for it this morning when you decided to skip off on your little outing. Ain't doing that again, are you frail?"

Her reply was barely audible but she replied all the same, knowing he'd demand it. "No."

He glanced again at the screen and grunted, coming up with nothing. "Bunch of dipshits last night had the same, they're certainly tracking something. Not on you though."

He tossed the device back on the table. He ran his eyes over her, thinking for a moment, then rose. She stepped back, alarmed. He dropped a heavy paw on her shoulder and guided her out of the den.

"You're having a shower." He ignored her becoming instantly rigid and shoved her in the direction of the bathroom. "Look like a drowned rat. I'll get you some clean change."

My, my, wasn't he being Mr. Considerate today. He grabbed a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers from his room. She was still standing outside the bathroom and he thrust the clothes in her arms.

She didn't look too pleased. "Aren't there any of my own clothes left?" she dared to ask.

"Nope," he replied cheerfully.

Her face fell and she eyed the things he'd given her with distaste, particularly the boxers.

"Wear your birthday suit if you prefer, frail," he said with a feral grin.

She clutched the clothes tighter.

"You get twenty minutes, then I'm coming in to get you." He started walking away, only to be stopped two steps later.

"Forty minutes."

He froze. She was _haggling_ with him? Not sure if he was impressed or annoyed, he turned on her slowly to find her watching him nervously but with an underlying determination steadying her gaze.

He decided he was impressed. He'd humour her this once. "Twenty-five."

"Thirty-five."

"Thirty."

They'd both known it would be thirty as soon as he'd offered twenty-five. She still pretended to consider it before giving a curt nod, briefly checking her watch.

Highly amused, he sauntered off to leave her to her shower.

... This time.

* * *

Victor's assessment of her resembling a drenched rodent was rather apt. She could hardly believe that the naked woman in the mirror was really her.

The first angry red line on her cheek had been joined by a second that was equally prominent, although the second etched slightly wider than the first, originally made by his fang and re-embossed by his claw in the bunker. On her other cheek were some grazed cuts that she only vaguely remembered from the night before running in the blizzard. Dark bags were clearly visible with her make-up having rubbed off long ago, accentuated further by the bright blue of her eyes. She'd never seen her cheeks so drawn. Her hair was wild, tumbling out of her pony tail and falling about her face, dirty to the point of looking more brown than the usual auburn. Her neck was a modern artist's masterpiece of red welts and puncture marks. Looking down, she saw a deep cut on her arm – was that from the wolf? The older gash on her thigh was healing remarkably quickly since Victor had licked it, and there was still that puncture wound in her ankle.

All this in two days. Would she even live another day? Or even survive the night?

Fear edged her mind but she stamped angrily down on it to dispel its paralysing shadows. She had less than thirty minutes before Victor barged in, less than thirty minutes of peace. If this was going to be her last ever shower then she was goddamn well going to enjoy the fancy-ass, all-body, multiple-nozzle power shower setup he had going here.

* * *

The frail emerged dead on thirty minutes, neither wasting a single minute safe from him nor giving him an excuse to drag her out. He tracked her soft steps approaching, wondering if she thought he'd be lurking in the den or something and that she could sneak to the spare room unnoticed. No such luck, he was lying right there on the bed.

The door opened softly. Frail was looking back over her shoulder down the corridor, keeping an eye out for him behind and didn't see him. Elementary error, she should've scouted all around, should always know where the predator is. She slipped quickly into the room and pressed the door closed softly, her back to the room. She released her pent-up breath in relief.

"Evenin', frail."

He'd never seen her so startled. She screamed, leaped, and fell back against the door all at once, her dirty clothes bundled up in her arms flying in all directions.

He burst out laughing.

For all of a moment she looked absolutely terrified, then anger exploded. "Christ, Victor!"

He was grinning manically. Yeah, this was better. He preferred her all stirred up than silent and timid, he got plenty of that shit anyplace he went. A feisty frail was much rarer.

"It's not funny! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"It's fucking hilarious from where I'm lying."

As if she'd been too startled to notice before, she suddenly studied him wide-eyed, taking stock of him lying there on the bed. His torso was bare leaving the rolling contours of his considerable muscles and smattering of dark chest hairs on full display, bulging arms crossed behind his head, and he still wore his black jeans – no need to frighten her _too_ much just yet – with his long legs crossed at the ankles.

She looked a different sight when she was clean, more like when he'd first spotted her by the river. The angry flush on her cheeks suited her too. Her skin scrubbed clean, his twin red marks running across her cheek like her own double miniature version of the Rockies, her damp hair a rich auburn lustre and giving off wafts of his own shampoo. A possessive growl welled up in his throat. She'd soon be wearing more of his smells. His t-shirt hung down to her knees, the swell of each breast centred with a tantalising poke – she wasn't wearing a bra. The wide neck had exposed one shoulder, and following his gaze, she flushed even more and tugged the shoulder back up. It simply made the shirt hang lower in the middle towards her cleavage.

Clearly uncomfortable under his roving gaze she began collecting up the scattered clothing. She bundled them together and put them on the floor by the door. Then she looked at him, noted that he was still watching her every move and moved towards the dirty clothes again.

"I'll go wash –"

"C'mere," he interrupted.

She shrunk into the door at her back, glared at him. "No way."

"Don't make me come and get you, frail, you won't like it."

"_No_," she repeated with more emphasis. Then added, "I've got to wash these clothes."

He sighed impatiently. Obviously the threat wasn't enough to overcome the greater fear of what she thought he intended to do to her when she reached him. "I ain't gonna fuck you. Now, get over here."

She didn't look like she believed him in the slightest. She stared at him for a long time, choosing her battles, weighing the options. There wasn't any really.

She finally took a step forwards. Then a second.

Slow, arduous steps as if she was walking the plank. He only managed to make himself wait because this was all part of the game. The whole idea was that she got used to doing as he told her.

She paused a few steps from the bed, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

He remained as he was, stretched out comfortably. He jutted a jaw to the space beside him. "Lie down."

She shrunk back a step.

He growled, his patience wearing thin. "I ain't gonna say it again."

She watched him like a hawk as she gingerly sat down, then even more cautiously lay back and lifted her legs onto the bed. She was right on the edge, as far away from him as the massive bed allowed. It was the first time he'd ever wished the bed was smaller. He rolled towards her –

Frail shot up, leaped off the bed.

He groaned, falling back for a moment in exasperation before he rolled up to his side again, propping his head up on one hand. "You're starting to piss me off, frail. I didn't plan on fucking you tonight but keep pissing me off and you might change my mind. Lie the fuck down, _now_."

She started moving towards him again so he let her take her time. She had to do as he said. She'd learn soon enough.

She finally lay down again. She didn't bolt this time as he reached over, and he dragged her closer by her hips until she was right against him.

He loomed scant centimetres from her face. "Rule number one, you do as I say. Can you remember that or do I have to teach you a lesson?"

She hurriedly shook her head. "No."

"No, what? You ain't gonna do as I say?"

She hesitated, clearly not wanting to give him carte blanche.

"Right, then," he began, flicked out his long claws at maximum extension –

"I'll do as you say!" she blurted, keen to correct any misunderstanding.

"Really? We'll see, won't we?" he said, retracting his claws. "Now, don't move unless I tell you."

She lay there as stiff as a board as he scooted down the bed until his nose was at her feet. He lifted her foot and sniffed the puncture wound in her ankle. He hadn't treated this one yet and he easily picked up the smell of infection. He started licking it clean and she relax a bit when she realised he was just treating the wound.

Didn't last long though. She froze right up again as he trailed his nose up along the outside line of her calf muscle and over her knee. Damn, her skin was soft. Waxed clean too. His nose nudged up the hem of the t-shirt to expose the gash in her thigh. It was clean and healing well but he licked it anyway, partly because he felt like it but mostly because it made her nervous.

His nose started travelling up again, lifting the t-shirt with it.

"V-Victor –" she began nervously, hands rising as if to push him off.

"What'd I tell you about moving, frail?" he warned against the smooth flesh of her thigh.

She fell silent again and bunched her fists in the bed coverings. He continued his leisurely journey along her skin, smelling his soap on her. He reached his boxers. He caught the t-shirt between his teeth, dragged it up past her waist. His boxers were way too big for her of course and she'd rolled up the waistband to keep them up, but the sight of her wearing them made a deep rumbling growl issue from his chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked, an edge of panic lacing her tight voice. She didn't move this time though.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He left the boxers alone, instead nuzzling his nose against her trembling stomach. Her skin was even softer here. Damn but did he want to bite her, ravage her, carve into her like butter... That growl hummed again in his chest.

"I think you want to stop."

He chuckled breathily against her skin. "Not at all. I'm seeing what I've got here." He moved more towards the centre of her stomach, dipped a tongue into her belly button. She gave a stifled gasp.

He sneered. "No, I don't think I want to stop at all."

He kept nudging up with his nose, exposing millimetre after millimetre of deliciously soft, quivering skin. He nosed up over the bumps of her ribs, higher and higher. Frail's control was on the verge of snapping, he could tell by her rising tension, quickening breath, thumping heart beat... His t-shirt ran out of give just as his nose touched the bottom curve of her breasts.

He looked up at her. "Well, ain't that a fucking shame."

Wild eyes stared back, her relief transparent.

Before he got too distracted, he set himself to checking the cut she'd picked up on her arm from her run-in with the wolves. It looked like a jab-and-tear job from a canine. He sniffed it before giving it a thorough lick, cleaning out the wound.

"Is that antiseptic?"

He wondered if she was really curious or just trying to keep him distracted. "What."

"Your saliva. You're always licking."

"Partly to disinfect. But also 'cos I like the taste of blood."

She shivered. He finished with her arm and resumed brushing his nose along her skin. He trailed up her arm, over her shoulder and to her neck. She drew away a little – he growled in warning, waiting until she settled again.

"Turn your head away."

She complied, though slowly and with a lot of focused breathing. He could tell that she didn't like exposing her neck to him which was precisely why he was making her do it – both for his own amusement and to reinforce the rule. He sniffed where he'd bitten her shoulder the previous evening and then the four holes left by his claws earlier that afternoon. They all seemed to be clean but, again, he licked them anyway. It was more smooching than anything else, his lips and tongue deliberately working in tandem to swirl across the stretched skin.

He shifted his weight, rested his forearms on either side of her head as he leaned over her. Her blue eyes were alight with fear.

"Other way."

She turned her head in towards his shoulder, faster than before since his mouth was rather close to hers in this position if she was looking up at him. He rested some of his weight on her although he kept most of it resting on his arms, her exposed stomach touching skin.

He cleaned out the hole left by his thumb claw on her neck. He took longer than was necessary, enjoying her trembling as he lay half draped over her, one hip still on the bed, forearms on either side of her head, his lips and tongue caressing her vulnerable neck, listening to the music of her heartbeats thundering like racehorses right beside his ear in time to the movement of his tongue. She was highly sensitised though not quite aroused yet.

More than satisfied she wasn't going to get any infections setting in, he drew back to look down at her. Her head remained averted, her eyes diligently locked on some point over his shoulder, keeping her lips out of line with his.

As if that was going to stop him. "Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her head to face him.

He glanced at her mouth – her whole body instantly tensed up threefold, shrinking as far as she could into the bed as he closed in –

"Do you see Logan often?"

He was mid-lean to her lips. He paused, then drew back and stared down at her incredulously for a second before huffing in amusement.

"You're just a right barrel of laughs, aren't you?"

Her eyes flickered nervously. "Well... do you?"

"I ain't talking about Jimmy right now, we're busy." And before she could utter another sound he mashed their lips together.

He began counting in the back of his mind as he kissed her. He was purposefully not holding her in place other than the gentle weight of his chest on hers and his arms leaning on the bed on either side of her head. He flicked his tongue against her lips, gently at first, then with increased pressure of his lips when she didn't oblige. She finally parted her lips and he wasted no time in deepening the kiss.

He knew the moment before she snapped. Her trembling stopped, held still in absolute tension, then she was suddenly wrenching her face away and shoving and kicking him off.

Twelve seconds.

"Get off me!"

He let her get as far as running half way to the door before he caught her around the waist, slinging her single-armed through the air like a discus. She sailed in a smooth arc and landed on the bed with an _umph_, bouncing rather high before he pounced.

"No! Let me go!"

He pinned her face down, no gentleness this time, his grip on her wrists crushing. She kicked back at him but he easily put a stop to that using his weight to press her into the bed. She was now gasping as well, having to lift him in order to draw breath.

She soon subsided, having run out of air to keep fighting. "You're hurting me," she mumbled into a mouthful of duvet.

"And who's fault is that?"

"Yours!"

"Oh, no, frail," he said, sounding entirely, darkly, pleased. "Rule number one, you do as I say. I asked if you needed a lesson, you remember what you said?"

A tinge of fear crept into her scent. "But you were –"

He interrupted her by abruptly extending his claws into one of her wrists, enough to leave pinpoint indents without breaking skin. She hissed and clammed up.

"_What_ _did_ _you say_?"

Her mouth opened, her jaw moved, but no sound came out. She seemed to realise she'd made a huge mistake.

He dug the claws in deeper, tightened his grip on her wrists just short of breaking bone. "Better fucking answer me, frail."

He felt himself lifted slightly as she dragged in a shaky breath. "I said I'll do as you said."

"First lesson, frail. I told you not to move, all you had to do was lie there. Couldn't even do _that_ though, could you?"

She grit her teeth. He almost purred in satisfaction as he sensed her anger prickling. "You can't expect me to simply take you abusing me, Victor."

"Tough shit. That was the rule."

"Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken."

He abruptly released her, pushed up from the bed with one arm, and with barely any effort he scooped the other arm under her and flipped her on her back. A laugh almost broke free at her startled face but he kept his expression deliberately cruel as he stared down at her lying there between his hands on the bed.

"Feel free to break the rules as much as you want, frail. But you should know, if you do, you're just begging to be punished."

Her mouth opened, a silent protest choked with fearful apprehension.

"Lift the shirt."

Her eyes became absolutely enormous, arms clutching protectively around herself. "No..." She shook her head, fearful and incredulous. "No!"

She rolled, tried to slither out from between his arms. He simply yanked her back by her hair.

He growled, becoming genuinely irritated. Her disobedience had been amusing before but now it was starting to become a nuisance. "You _trying_ to fuck with me? Do as I say if you wanna save yourself a shit load more pain than you're already getting. Lift. The fucking. Shirt."

Trembling hands lifted his t-shirt up to her stomach.

Incensed, he rumbled the back of his throat, his lips peeled back, snarling in her face. He was barely containing himself from slashing it off her. "The _fuck_ do you think I mean, frail?"

Her eyes begged for mercy, but of course there was none. Finally, she grit her teeth, looked away, and pulled the shirt up the rest of the way, exposing her breasts.

His searing gaze drank in the sight of them. They were rising and falling with her shaking breaths, swelling nicely even when she was lying on her back, the dark pink buds tight and pert and waiting for his attention.

He leaned in, his breath tickling her skin. The air rippled with her tension and fear as he hovered over a pert pink peak. But then abruptly, with a ravenous growl he sank his fangs into the soft flesh just above her left breast.

A sharp cry accompanied the hot blood that spurted into his mouth and sent his own sizzling. Not only the blood but the salty smell of tears also assailed his nose and he found himself having to fight hard to control his bloodlust. He wanted her alive for a reason, he reminded himself, and he wasn't in the habit of denying himself.

Breathing deep, he brought himself under control, ignoring the heat in his groin. Deeming it to be sufficient for a first lesson he drew out his fangs and licked the two puncture marks, consciously keeping a lid on his bloodlust.

Once he had stemmed the bleeding he straightened his arms and stared down at her face again. She had her hands pressed to her mouth and his prick ached at the sight of the tear tracks running from the corner of her eyes. With a single finger he pulled her hands away, using only gentle pressure but she easily complied.

"First rule, frail. You gonna do as I say from now on?"

Indignation flickered in her shimmering eyes for the briefest moment, but then her gaze scooted away. "Yes, Victor."

More blood rushed south at the way she said his name, a breathy sigh that managed to convey all her pain, anger, hate and fear in just two syllables.

He grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head, crossed at the wrists. He locked his eyes with hers, hard, unrelenting, lethal.

"Don't. Fucking. Move."

He released her arms and half sat over her hips, half supporting himself on his knees on either side of her. He slid both hands down her arms, drifted over the bunched up t-shit at her armpits and fluttered his fingers down over her breasts. She shook, her breath shook, but she obediently kept her arms above her head.

He trailed a nose over the soft skin of one breast, circling ever closer to the poking bud without touching it, and mirrored the pattern on the other breast. He listened to her pitched breathing as he swished a tongue over her, approaching tantalising close to the nipples and away again, over and over. The longer he pointedly refrained from touching the pink buds, the more they strained and tightened.

It wasn't long before he picked up the sweet, telltale scent in the air. Smirking against her skin, he nipped her and dragged his fangs over her, listening to her stuttering heartbeat to judge the threshold where sensual pain simply became pain so he could keep her within her pleasure zone. Her scent thickened.

"Knew you wanted me," he murmured into her cleavage.

Two deep breaths. "Forcing physical reactions on people is a far cry from them wanting you." He could hear her trying to keep her voice steady. She wasn't very successful.

He chuckled, breathing over a nipple. "Just keep telling yourself that," he taunted.

Then suddenly his mouth closed on the target he'd been evading for so long, sucking as he swirled with his tongue. Her back arched, but he couldn't tell whether she was trying to get away from him or leaning into his mouth.

A shuddery breath panted in. "Stop, Victor. Please..."

"Why? You -on't -ike i'?" he murmured around a mouthful of pink.

"What?" she gasped.

He noted that she was cradling her head with her elbows, face turned and buried into her inner arm. Her hands, however, were on the bed, fists clenched tight but still crossed at the wrists. Seemed she was learning, he'd let the minor repositioning pass.

He tasted his way across the soft cleavage to her other breast and lavished the other peak to the symphony of her strained gasps. He smirked as the smell of her arousal teasing his nostrils became ever thicker. She was wet, no doubt about it. There was no more room to manoeuvre in his jeans.

He climbed up, lying over her, forearms resting on either side of her head again. His chest was now directly touching her breasts and he could feel her every unsteady breath.

He crushed their lips together hard, one hand roving up from thigh to breast. He pinched a pert bud and she huffed, he immediately slipped his tongue in. As he continued fondling her breasts he wedged a knee between hers, pushed his thigh up between her legs. The pressure relieved some of her need, whether she knew she had it or not, and she gasped into his mouth. He didn't hold back, kissing her brutally, not restraining her but knowing she wouldn't pull away. Her unwilling compliance shot even more blood into his straining member and his jeans became painfully tight.

But tonight was not about fucking. Tonight was for the frail to learn to listen to him and start responding to him. All in all it had gone down a fucking treat.

Sucking her tongue into his mouth he gave it a last painful squeeze, before letting her breathe again. He stared down in satisfaction at her lying beneath him – lips red and swollen, her left breast marked with his fangs, skin red and bruised in places from his ungentle attentions, wrists still crossed obediently above her head. But most importantly, her blue eyes were stormy as she met his gaze, frightened and hurting but, crucially, not broken.

He smirked, traced claws down the twin lines. "Sweet dreams, frail."

Sliding off the bed, he ambled back to his own room to deal with the growing problem in his pants.

* * *

**A/N:** *fanning flushed face* :) Hope you liked it!

Btw I mean "pants" in the US usage meaning "trousers", though I suppose the UK "underwear" translates equally as well... (tee hee)

Oh, and I wanted to ask – this "scene" between them was written from Victor's POV. The last one (end of Ch 5) was written from Sofie's POV. Which do you prefer to see more of?

~ Nyx ~


	8. Chapter 8

**GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!**

**DISCLAIMERS:** Same as chapter 1.

**A/N: **Would you believe it, I'm back! Sorry for the long delay. We lost someone this summer and I was totally not in the right mood for writing this type of story. We will never forget but we're gradually recovering, and when I opened up this file today, it was half done and I found myself drawn right back in. I'm not sure if I managed the same tone as before, but it's an especially long chapter just for you and plenty of VictorxSofie action stepped up to the next stage!

**CHAPTER WARNING:** Things get _steamy_. EXPLICIT, ADULTS ONLY!

~ Nyx ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

Sofie was nudged awake by a call of nature, and then in the next moment she was yanked from the lingering drowsiness to full wakefulness by one screaming thought – _Victor!_ Bolting upright, she blinked in the golden sunlight streaming in through the windows as she cast anxiously about the room, and sighed with immense relief when she'd assured herself that the presence that she swore she could feel was just the result of her hyped up fear. After his prank scaring her last night she was never making assumptions as to his whereabouts ever again. Not that knowing where he was would make much difference...

Repeating her desperate prayer to her Pa from the night before, her last waking thought before she had fallen asleep, she freed herself from the tangle of black sheets, groaning at the general ache all through her body. The sheer exhaustion after gallivanting around the mountain, running in with the wolves, all the renewed adrenaline after Victor had caught up, and the incident with Logan as well as Victor then tormenting her had helped send her quickly to sleep after he had left her last night, but she was paying for all the activity now with every muscle and joint protesting the movement. Some of her friends in high school had run a half marathon many moons ago and she could relate to how they must've felt afterwards.

Her wrists were throbbing as well – she could see dark bruises forming under the skin, striped with red welts where her skin had been pinched between his fingers. She flexed her hands and was rewarded with more aching, but fortunately nothing like the sharp pain she'd have expected if anything had been broken.

Grimacing at the sight of Victor's grey t-shirt hanging on her small, aching frame as well as the black boxers when they came into view, she cautiously pulled up the t-shirt and checked the two fang marks above her breast. They still stung and were red and scabbed over, but appeared clean and had no swelling. Must have been thanks to his licking.

Her brows immediately slammed down. _Thanks to his licking?_ "You're kidding me, right?" she mumbled to herself. This was all his fault to begin with! Her lips pinched a tight line as she hauled her mind firmly away from such disturbingly Stockholm-like notions. _All. Victor's. Fault!_

Responding to the increasing pressure in her bladder she scooted to the edge of the humongous bed and dropped to her feet, wobbling a little before she managed to steady her aching legs and shuffled to the door. She reached for the handle –

She froze. Ever so slowly, she looked down at the empty patch of floor next to the door.

Her dirty clothes were gone.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Victor must have returned at some point in the night and taken them. She quickly ran a mental check – she didn't feel violated, not in _that_ way at least, and she had no doubt that if he _had_ tired anything, she couldn't possibly _not_ feel something judging by the size of –

She practically choked on the thought, quelled it before it could go any further. She would have woken up, end of story. Still, the thought of being ignorant of Victor watching her sleeping – or whatever else he'd come back for – was utterly unnerving.

She stepped quietly into the corridor. Morning light filtered in through various windows and lit her way as she tiptoed to the bathroom. Wincing at the creak of the door handle, she snuck into the bathroom and closed the door behind her – and found herself gaping in shock.

The drying rack sat in the empty bathtub, and hanging from it were her clothes.

His clothes were also hanging alongside hers, comically large in comparison – or hers were comically small. Either way, Victor had washed her clothes. She had no idea what to make of it. _Victor had done her laundry?_ Her brain couldn't seem to register it at all.

She found herself squeezing her legs together, reminding her why she had ventured out of the relative (if entirely imagined) safety of the spare room in the first place. She was still staring at the hanging clothes in a daze as she lowered the toilet seat, relieved herself, and washed her hands. _Victor had done her laundry?_

She almost leaped out of her skin as the door banged open behind her and she belatedly realised that she had forgotten to lock the door when the laundry had caught her by surprise.

The huge mutant filled the doorway, hair and mutton chops tousled from sleep, torso bare with the rolling contours of muscles on full display, dark slacks slung low on his hips. The scream was in her throat but it faded as he loped over to the toilet, completely ignoring her.

There was an irritated growl as he took in the sight of the toilet seat left down. He flung it up with such force that it slammed up and straight back down again and then bounced halfway back up before settling with a noisy rattle. Still growling and heedless that the seat had fallen back down, he yanked down the front of his slacks –

Sofie shot out the door like a bullet. Barely noticing her aching limbs, she thought fast and dashed to the kitchen. Victor reminded her all too much of a bear freshly emerged from a long winter of sleep and she needed something to distract him with should he come after her. She ran around, snatching slices of a joint of meat she couldn't name from the larder and a dozen sausages from the fridge, throwing pans onto the stove and hurrying to make his breakfast.

A low growl stopped her in her tracks. She turned slowly to see him looming just inside the kitchen doorway, complete with bed hair that suited him irritatingly too well and 380 lbs of all too impressive muscle.

"Good morning, Victor," she said, just the faintest tremor in her voice.

The growling continued, a steady drone deep in his chest. He headed towards her, his steps lazy but his direction purposeful. She began circling the island away from him. He circled it after her.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," she added.

Could he even hear her? This wasn't the ruthless and domineering mutant who had pinned her to the bed last night; everything from his powerfully elegant gait as he stalked her around the kitchen to the wild eyes locked onto her with unnerving intent screamed _animal_.

She grabbed at the fridge door as she passed it and snatched up the nearest carton. Turned out to be milk. Did he even drink milk? Seemed a bit early for beer... "Thirsty?"

Still just that continuous rumbling, still the same slow, ominous steps after her. She grabbed a glass and poured some milk, left it on a corner of the island as she kept circling away from him. Victor ignored it as he passed it, glinting eyes still fixated on her. A predator prowling after his prey.

She shook the pans on the stove as she passed them to keep his breakfast from burning, put the milk carton away as she passed the fridge, and picked up the glass of milk again as she rounded the same corner.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked, waving it in front of her face, still backing away.

Finally, his gaze shifted, focused on the glass. _Aha, result!_ She left it on the next corner of the island and continued circling away. He picked up the glass and downed the whole lot in one go. Then his sharp gaze swung back to her and he was stalking her again.

She gave up trying to distract him and focused on cooking his breakfast with each pass of the stove as he continued stalking round and round after her in the kitchen.

"You're going to have to have this bland, I'm afraid. I can't flavour it with you harassing me like this."

No reaction, just the same sharp gaze eyeing up his prey, the same deep rumbling, the same damned prowling.

"Really, do you understand anything I'm saying?"

Nothing.

Alright then. "Say nothing if you agree this is ridiculous."

Nothing.

Dare she push it? "Actually, say nothing if you're very sorry for everything you've put me through and promise not to touch me again."

No reaction. She rolled her eyes.

She had put his huge trough-like plate on a lower shelf within easy reach after dinner the previous evening and she now grabbed it as she passed the cupboard. She had to circle the island again before she could get to the stove. She grabbed one pan as she passed, shook the pork joint slices into the trough. The next pass saw the sausages joining them on the plate.

"Here you go," she said waving the trough in front of her face. Once she was sure his attention had shifted away from her, she placed it on the island.

"Do you want a knife and –" she began, but when she looked again he was already digging in, claws spearing the pieces of meat and wolfing it down.

"I guess not."

Fairly certain that his attention was safely diverted for the time being, she cracked some eggs in a new pan and made herself a cheese omelette. It only took a couple of minutes to make and she leaned on a side counter, nibbling on it as she watched Victor scoff his way through his substantial breakfast. He was still eating when she finished so she collected up the dirty pans and began washing them up in the sink.

She sensed him a moment too late. She leaped away amidst a spray of soapy water but only smacked into his arm that had locked onto the sink beside her. His other arm was on the other side, caging her in.

He pressed up behind her, either aroused anew or still with his morning glory but whichever it was she felt it clearly pressing into her backside. He leaned into her and the heat from his chest seemed to burn through the t-shirt at her back.

His mutton chops ticked her cheek. "Morning, frail."

She tried to ignore how her heart was trying to thump its way out of her ribcage. "So you're talking again now then?"

He chuckled against her ear. "Can't think till I've eaten."

"Could've warned me..." Her body jolted as she felt claws faintly tracing up the outside of her thigh.

"You know how tempting you look flouncing around my kitchen in just my t-shirt?"

"I'll go get dressed!" she squeaked as his hand slid up dangerously close to the boxers. They were totally oversized, offering way too much access for wondering hands.

He nibbled her ear. "Don't trouble yourself on my behalf." He drew away with his groin a little, but only to allow room for his claws to find their way up under the boxers and begin trailing circles on her right ass cheek.

"Stop it!" She tried to shove back with her shoulders, but he leaned right in and nuzzled against her neck. He snuck his spare hand up under the t-shirt, sliding up along her stomach, higher, up towards –

They both froze as the phone blared loudly through the kitchen. It rang again and Victor sighed as he released her, withdrawing his large paws. He traced the bite marks above her breast as he whispered into her ear, "Don't go anywhere."

The reminder of the 'lesson' from last night fresh in her mind, she couldn't bring herself to move her feet as he stepped away and reached for the cordless on the wall.

He snarled, deep and pissed. "Creed."

What a way to answer the phone – she wondered if the poor sod on the other end had wet themselves. His gloomy expression didn't shift at all as he listened to the rambling on the other end. From where she was it sounded like quiet, indistinct prattle.

"Gimme the rundown."

More prattle.

"To hell with your email, I ain't reading through no shit if I ain't interested."

Sofie's ears perked up. He had internet here?

"You know that ain't my scene."

More prattle.

"Well that part's better. How much." It was a demand, barely a question.

The prattling continued. Victor scowled. "You're having a fucking laugh."

His tone had suddenly developed an edge. Sofie quietly rubbed the scourer around the frying pan, trying to keep herself inconspicuous.

He crossed an arm over his chest, drummed his claws on the opposite bicep.

"You're pissing me off, Anders. I ain't a fucking bell boy. Add two zeros and I might start listening, otherwise quit wasting my fucking time." He hung up, cutting the other guy off in mid-sentence. Sofie winced as the cordless was slammed back on the wall.

He glowered at her, fists flexing, breathing deep and slow as if trying to control himself. She shrunk into herself.

"Don't even think of leaving, frail. You'll be here with dinner ready when I get back this evening or there'll be hell to pay."

She stood immobile, listening to him storming around the lodge, then the whole building shook as he slammed the front door shut.

* * *

As soon as Victor walked in through the door and his eyes landed on the frail, he knew she was on a mission. Back ramrod straight, her gaze steady and determined, back in her torn leggings and jumper that he'd thrown in the wash halfway through the night, she preceded him into the kitchen, barely looking at the adult bison draped over his shoulders like it weighed no more than a feather.

"Are you hungry?"

He shucked his muddy boots by the front door and followed her warily, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The fuck had she been up to?

He headed straight to the larder and hung up the bison first before standing in the doorway watching her as she served his trough with a heaped mountain of meat – she'd cut up small bits of veg into the steaming, mouth-watering sauce as if she was trying to hide them from a small child who refused to eat their greens – and placed it at the head of the table. She served herself her usual fare of rabbit feed covered in the same sauce and sat down in her usual place beside his.

She looked up impatiently. "You eating?"

"What is it?" he asked.

"Oh," she said with some surprise, he'd never asked what she'd cooked up before. "It's bison again but it's been stewing for several hours so it should be tender and –"

"Not the food. The fuck's up with you?"

Startled eyes glanced up at him hovering there, then flickered away again. Yep, something was definitely going on with her. She fidgeted with the fork beside her plate.

"What makes you think anything is –"

He growled, stepped towards her –

"Alright, alright!" she cried, toppling her chair over as she hurriedly distanced herself. She seemed exasperated more than anything and it made him draw up short. She didn't seem afraid, other than about him getting riled up.

"You sure you aren't psychic?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyes at her, having no patience for her stalling.

"I had an idea, that's all," she said quickly. "I was going to ask you after you'd eaten when you were in a better mood, 'cos you seem to be a right old grump on an empty stomach. And I'm very hungry too so can we eat first? I'll tell you all about it afterwards and you'll find it the most boring thing in the world, honestly."

He weighed his curiosity with his rumbling stomach and decided to sate some of his hunger first. He went to wash his hands in the sink – he was a cat after all, he liked to be clean – and slunk over to the table.

"You poisoned my food or something and want to ask me what type of coffin I want?"

She looked entirely too eager. "Would that work?"

He glowered at her. She wisely dropped it, straightened out her chair and sat down to her non-food.

Frail certainly could cook, and for a herbivore she seemed to know exactly what to do with meat. The trough emptied rapidly down his trap.

He leaned back, folded his arms. "Start talking."

She paused with the greens halfway to her open mouth. She lowered the fork and swallowed nervously, eyes intently fixed on a vague spot on the table.

"I'd like you to employ me."

Silence.

Very few things had the power to surprise him anymore after his long and savage life. This was one of those rare instances. "Come again?"

He could see the wheels moving in her head, calling up the words she had rehearsed. "I was bored stiff just staring at the walls all day and I started thinking. Seeing as you seem intent on keeping me here, I need something to do or I'll go mad very soon." She looked straight at him, her eyes alight. "I'm an architect. I could design a house for you. My fees are high but you seem to be able to afford it. Point me to the land, tell me what you want, and I'll design it for you."

He wasn't sure he liked this feeling of being left on the back foot. Of all the things he'd expected, the likelihood of this probably ranked about level with Charles Xavier knocking on his door claiming to be his long lost twin.

He nodded slowly as if he was mulling it over. "That's an intriguing idea, frail. The house I've always wanted..."

Her features rose in hope.

"Question is, why the fuck would I have to _pay_ you?"

She stilled, then her face scrunched into a grimace. "Idiot," she hissed, pushing away from the table and stoming towards the island.

Rage flared and a moment later he was pinning her brutally over the counter, one hand at her wrist monitoring her pulse while the other pushed her cheek-first into the black tiles.

"Wanna say that again?"

"I didn't mean you!"

"Better explain yourself fucking quick, frail."

"I was calling _myself_ an idiot, I hadn't considered you not paying me, though it's the most obvious thing! It ruins the whole plan, I was an idiot!"

"And why do you so desperately want me to pay you? It's not like you're ever getting away so money would be useless."

She squirmed. He lifted her head and smacked it back down on the counter. He hadn't put much force behind it but her eyes still smarted with tears. "Better fucking answer me, frail."

"Because if I was your employee, you wouldn't be able to do this sort of shit anymore. There are laws protecting employees from harassment... and stuff..."

He stared at her for a long moment, then started laughing, a deep, full-bellied laugh. He let go of her head and wrist, leaning on the counter over her as his mirth ran its course.

Frail was trying to protect herself against him. Not that it would work, of course, but he was tickled by her attempt.

"Fucking lucky you're so amusing."

She was still lying there. He pulled her upright and turned her around, lifted her by the hips and sat her on the counter so they were eye-to-eye. Ignoring her flinching away, he swiped her hair back to check the bump on her forehead.

"You'll live."

She glowered at him. "No thanks to you," she grumbled.

He grinned crookedly. "Time for seconds. I'm still hungry."

* * *

Victor was half way through his third helping when the phone rang again. It had rung a few times during the day when he was out but Sofie hadn't dared answer it. She saw a dark cloud settle on his face as he flicked his fingers in an 'over here' motion. She retrieved the cordless from the wall and held it out – he reached for it, but instead of taking the phone he grabbed and yanked her wrist, twisting at the end. With a startled yelp, her feet flipped up and she landed in his lap as he tugged the phone from her hand.

"Creed."

He listened to the voice on the other end as he snaked an arm around her, drawing her rigid form flush against him before she could wiggle free.

"Get to the fucking point, Anders. You know what I wanna hear."

A few words answered him before he hung up without another word and chucked the phone on the table. She tried to slip off him again but he only tightened his arm around her, trapping her in place as he reached around her for the fork and continued eating.

He gave no sign of letting her go. "Uh... Victor?"

The phone started ringing again but Victor made no move for it. It carried on ringing until it eventually cut out.

A second later it was blaring again. He let out an irritated humph, grabbed the phone – pressing against her as he leaned forwards to reach it – and dropped it in her lap. "Take a message."

Was he serious? His darkening glower had her quickly turning her attention to the phone.

How in the world was she meant to take messages for the big bad Victor Creed? After considering for a second, she adopted the bog-standard, coldly professional tone that could have spouted from any multi-national business answering service.

"You've reached the office of Mr. Creed, who's calling please?"

In the brief shocked silence from the other end, Victor started chuckling. He half-choked on his mouthful of meat and she looked to him in hope, but alas he swallowed it down.

The caller cleared his throat. "Uh... Is he there?" Even in the uncertain tone and sounding like he'd just had the wind knocked from his sails, she detected the polished British accent.

She maintained her coolly impersonal tone. "He's unavailable to take your call right now but I can take a message."

Victor grinned, bumped his legs a little, making her wobble. She glared at him, put her hand on the table to steady herself.

"Right, yes, of course. Can you tell him that Anders called, about... about what we discussed earlier. I spoke with my client and he can scrape together eight."

Victor shook his head firmly. Of course, he'd be able to hear every word. She couldn't be entirely sure what they were talking about but money was a safe bet.

"Is that what was agreed with Mr. Creed, Mr. Anders?"

"Not quite. But it's the best my client can do and we feel it is very generous. Ten million is just not going to be possible."

She blinked. _Ten million_? They weren't talking about eight hundred or even eight grand. _Ten_ _million_...!

"Hello?"

Anders prompting her and Victor nibbling her ear quickly brought her out of her shocked thoughts. Elbowing Victor away, she re-gathered her wits and her cool, apathetic voice. "And what currency would that be in? Presumably pound sterling?" She was simply guessing from his accent.

She knew she'd got it wrong by Victor's smirk and the splutter down the phone. Oh well.

"No, US dollars," Anders corrected firmly. "Eight million US dollars."

She turned her voice into that of flat disappointment. "I see."

She knew from the touch of urgency in Anders' voice that he'd picked up her tone. "Please, just... would you please ask Creed to call me when he's got a moment?"

She was cold, aloof, final. "Mr. Anders, I can hardly waste Mr. Creed's time telling him something he has already refused. Have a pleasant evening."

Victor sneered as she hung up. "_Mr. Creed_?" he intoned.

She could only shrug.

* * *

In addition to the cooking, it seemed that she'd picked up another reason for Victor to keep her alive – as his personal secretary. Anders called back repeatedly that evening and Victor made her answer each time. He was content to let her politely but firmly refuse to either pass on a message or to let the man speak to Victor, and both she and Anders were getting increasingly frustrated with every politely strained conversation.

By the sixth call Anders resorted to a none-too-subtle threat – "Is Creed even aware that I'm calling? You might not realise it but this an important job, he'd want to know that I called. What would he do if he discovered that you weren't doing your job?" – and Sofie was put out enough by that point to reply nonchalantly, "Oh, he'd probably carve off my fingers one by one, or pull out my intestines through my belly button, or eat my still-beating heart while making me watch – could be anything, really. You know how creative Mr. Creed can be." That earned her a shocked silence from Anders, and a raised eyebrow from said Mr. Creed on the other end of the couch.

On the seventh call Anders sombrely informed her that his client had managed to call in some favours and agreed to the full ten, at which point Victor waved for the phone. Sofie cheerfully reported that Mr. Creed had just stepped into the room and was available to speak.

She left them to it.

* * *

If Victor had one thing to recommend him, it was his shower. Multiple nozzles at various heights shot luxurious jets of water from five of the six walls of the large hexagonal shower stall. The water pressure was fully adjustable and she'd turned the dial to the perfect setting for the hot water to cascade over her like thousands of tiny hands massaging her aching joints and muscles.

Standing here like this – face upturned, eyes closed and basking in the man-made, heavenly waterfall as the last of the shampoo and soap was washed away – she could almost forget all the horrors that awaited her outside. Almost. But not quite. The puncture marks made by Victor's fangs and claws had ceased stinging from when the water had first hit them, but they still ached with every heartbeat, making them impossible to ignore.

In three days her life had gone from bad to unimaginably worse, from what was already a living nightmare to co-habiting hell with the devil himself. And three weeks ago, nearly four now, she'd lost her Pa. She swallowed as tears threatened. She couldn't think about that, not now. She sent her mind further back, eleven years back in fact, back to when she'd become Blaine's prisoner.

She clenched her fists, grit her jaw. She'd been wrong earlier, this wasn't _all_ Victor's fault. It was Blaine's as well. If he had left her alone all those years ago, she wouldn't have been running out into the Rockies to try and escape him. Not only had he stolen her freedom but he'd delivered her into Victor's hands as neatly as if he'd wrapped her up in brown paper and posted her by courier directly to the mutant. The bastard! Her eyes snapped open in rage –

She very nearly suffered a cardiac arrest. Through the misted glass of the shower door, she saw the large dark shape leaning against the bathroom wall.

"I locked the door!" she cried in a strangled voice.

She could hear the grin in his voice. "Did I forget to tell you? I can open it from outside."

"I'm - I'm done here, I'll just grab a towel and be right out of your way."

His dark chuckle was chilling. And when his dark, hazy form pulled his t-shirt off over his head, even with all the steam around her, her mouth went bone dry.

"No, you're not done here, frail," he hummed. "Not by a long shot."

She teetered on indecision for a mere second before she made a break for it. Bashing open the shower door she legged it for the bathroom door –

"No!" she screamed as he caught her from behind, swung her around and dropped her back in the shower. His huge form blocked any further hope of escape.

"Well, _hello_ frail," he purred with a perfectly lascivious leer.

She tried, rather unsuccessfully, to hide herself with her hands. Fear and anger warred for prominence. "Let me out, Victor," she ground out.

"When there's so much fun to be had? I don't think so." Eyes dark with lust fixed on her, he unbuckled his jeans, drew them down and kicked them off.

She tried not to look at his dark underwear, snug against the prominent – She snapped her eyes up. "Please, Victor, don't do this."

He yanked his pants down. She screwed her eyes shut.

"Do what?"

She peered her eyes open, quickly looked away again immediately – but she couldn't _not_ see. How could she not? _IT_ was _right there_! She'd seen it before, of course, but it had been dim and dingy in the bunker. Here in the full light of the bathroom, the length of him protruded towards her, at half mast and yet she might or might not have managed to get her hand all the way around the thick shaft. At full arousal he would have been absolutely enormous.

"Frail, hands down."

Her eyes snapped back up to his – dark pupils blown, cruel lust radiating out like beams of visible light. She gulped.

"Hands. Down."

She refused. Or at least, she did for five seconds. Then she couldn't withstand his blistering glare any longer, and, hating her own cowardice, she lowered her hands.

His eyes burned a trail over her body, scorching as he took in the sight of her wet glistening body. Down over her breasts, her nipples taut in the cool air blowing into the shower from the bathroom and poking out from between her wet hair, over her stomach, the curly cluster at the juncture of her legs, the curve of her hips and down her legs.

He stepped into the shower. Panic welled over and Sofie was pushing herself into the wall at her back.

The shower door clicked shut and then the heat radiating from his body seemed hotter than the water still jetting out from the multiple showerheads. He loomed before her, an incredibly masculine, powerful specimen of man, large in every meaning of the word.

"Oh God... Oh God..."

He stepped closer – her hands flew up, pushing in vain against the solid wall of his chest.

"No! Victor, please! Don't..."

He cocked his head, leaning deliberately into her hands. "Don't what?"

He knew perfectly well what she meant, asshole was making her say it. "Don't rape me. Please, Victor!"

"I ain't gonna rape you, frail. I ain't _ever_ gonna rape you."

She didn't believe him for a second.

"Oh, we'll fuck alright," he said to her incredulous expression, which promptly morphed to fear, "but I won't need to force you."

She was straight back to incomprehension. What in the hell was he talking about?

When his lips curved into a dark sneer, she knew she was in Trouble with a capital T. "Want me to tell you why?"

No, she didn't. He told her anyway, leaning further into her hands, too much for her to be able to keep him away. He whispered in her ear, the tip of his swollen cock nudging into the curve of her belly.

"When we fuck, it'll be 'cos you begged for it."

Denial. Horror nonetheless. And a fair amount of dread. She had no idea what to make of it. No way would she beg for it, the man was nuts! And yet... And yet! ... Somehow, she couldn't help the creeping, crawling, dreadful feeling that he'd somehow manage to engineer it... Oh, what a horrible thought!

"You're insane."

He just smirked, a smug, all-knowing look that she wanted to smack off his face.

"You'll see. But it won't be tonight."

"It won't be _any_ night! I'm not going anywhere near that overgrown barge pole! Now, get out of my way!"

She shoved him and he shoved her right back. His action had much more impact, no surprise there, and she was sent flying back rather painfully into one of the shower nozzles.

A dark shadow clouded his face as he turned off most of the nozzles until there was only water hitting his back. "On your knees."

Her stomach turned. "Victor –"

"Do as I say, frail."

Her gut clenched, her heart hammered. She couldn't bring herself to move.

Anger loomed. "D'you want another lesson? Get on your fucking knees."

Opposing fears battled within, but eventually the building fire in his eyes tipped the balance. She sank shakily to her knees, having to shuffle forwards away from the wall to make room for her feet – bringing her closer to that barge pole she'd sworn to have nothing to do with.

He grasped a fistful of her hair and held her in place, closed the distance between them and stood with his legs apart so his cock was pointed at her mouth. It had grown in the last few seconds, a proud obelisk rising out of a dark nest.

The dark red bulb loomed in front of her face.

"Open wide, frail, and don't you fucking dare bite me." With a warning look, he pushed in.

He wasn't gentle. He rammed straight in, thrusting deep down her throat. Choking and wincing from the pain of his pulling her hair, tears welled reflexively in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as he fucked her mouth. She didn't dare bite. As much as gnawing off his member might have solved the risk of him raping her, she would never have survived to appreciate it.

It had never been so difficult keeping her jaw wide open, the muscles aching as she fought her natural instinct to either pull away or clamp down on such a huge object repeatedly invading her mouth. As he sped up and pushed even deeper, she was gagging almost constantly and really thought she'd throw up. He swelled even larger, his movement becoming jerky, but just as she thought he would explode, he yanked abruptly out of her mouth and shoved her away. She hit the wall hard and fell.

Victor was bracing himself against the walls, muscles bulging and rippling down his glistening frame as he visibly brought himself under control. She cowered at his feat, tremors racking through her.

After a while she felt the heat of his gaze on her and she hugged her knees tighter. She felt no ounce of courage, nothing but fear, she just wanted to curl up and disappear. She had no idea what he was doing, just standing over her staring. Almost as if he was calculating something...

"Get up."

She shakily pushed herself to her feet. She couldn't gauge his mood. His voice was quiet, not obviously angry but his dark eyes were intense.

He stepped towards her and she pressed back into the wall. Tilting her chin up, he leaned down and kissed her. It was such a gentle kiss that she was taken completely by surprise. His lips soft, his hand moving to caress her cheek over the twin lines. When his tongue brushed against her mouth, she parted her lips partly out of not daring to refuse but also from her amazement. After using her mouth so forcefully seconds ago, it was a shocking change.

His hands ran over her, softly caressing, tweaking sensitive buds, claws drawing faint circles as he kissed her again. Her skin became more sensitive, alive to his touch, acutely aware of his every caress and teasing pinches. Heat gathered between her legs – uh oh...

Victor sniffed. "You're wet for me, frail," he murmured into her neck.

"No I'm not." She was even more afraid now, if that was possible. She knew what to expect from a brutal Victor. This gentle Victor was terrifying. Or, more precisely, _her own reaction_ to this gentle Victor was terrifying. A modicum of willpower returned and she pulled her head free, tried to push him away, her shaking hands meeting his ripped, immovable chest.

The grip on her chin tightened to draw her against him. "We ain't done yet, frail. Dry yourself off. I'm gonna be out in five minutes, and when I do, I want you on your bed, naked. You hear me, frail?"

"I –" Her protest was cut short by his gleaming eyes. "Yes, Victor," she whispered instead.

* * *

Her hands, absent-mindedly drying her hair, froze in the towel as she caught his shadow out of the corner of her eyes. Her knees seemed to draw in closer to her chest of their own accord as he loped towards the bed. He plucked the towel from her, leaving her nothing to hide behind.

"Sit on the end of the bed," he told her.

Sofie took a deep breath. "Victor, look, I'm sure we can work something out –" She was cut off in a choke as his large hand suddenly clamped around her throat and heaved her off the bed. She clutched desperately at his hand, trying to ease some of the painful pull on her neck from having her whole body hanging from it, as he dangled her nose-to-nose in front of him.

"What part, of _do as I say_, didn't you understand, frail?"

His voice was soft, dangerously so. She couldn't say a word with her throat crushed as it was. He dropped her back on the bed, letting her gasp some breath back in her lungs for a few seconds.

"Shall we try again? Sit on the end of the bed."

She scooted down without protest this time, trembling as he walked around the large bed to where she sat, knees over the end and feet on the floor. She found herself eye-to-cock with his massive member again and eyed it warily.

He smirked. "Eager, are we?"

She fumed in outrage. "What? God, no! You egotistical, overbearing, bull-headed –"

"Lie back," he interrupted.

"Uh... What?"

He narrowed his eyes, and looking at his stony face quickly darkening with rage, any will to refuse crumbled. She lay down.

"Lift your knees up."

Her breath caught in her throat. She slowly raised her knees, although she couldn't help from trying one last time. "Victor, you don't have to –"

"Shut up, frail, and drop your knees wide."

Her heart hammered to a halt. She was under no delusions that this was a battle she could win. He'd have her where he wanted, whether she protested or not, whether she cooperated or was forced through pain. Closing her eyes and feeling as though she'd die from the humiliation, she parted her knees, opening herself obscenely to his view.

It had been eleven years since anyone had seen her down there. First a few tumbles with her high school sweetheart, and she had happily slept with Blaine a few times before their wedding, then he'd forced himself on her once or twice after she learned what he really was but fortunately he'd bored of her rather quickly. But she'd been in no position to become romantically involved with anyone since. What would he make of her curly auburn hair and the rest of her down there...? She burned all the way to the tips of her ears as Victor feasted his eyes on the most intimate part of her, fully exposed to his view.

A cool breath whispered across those private lips and her eyes flew open – to find him crouching, his mouth a scant few inches from her.

Her jaw dropped, but before she could say anything, he licked her, and the entire world spun off its axis.

Blaine had never gone down on her; the entirely novel sensation sent her reeling. The broad sweeping brushes with the flat of his rough tongue sent shivers coursing through her, while the contrasting, focused flicks with the tips intensified the heat and made an involuntary moan issue from her parted lips. He alternately teased and avoided her clit, building the pressure and desire, and burrowed his tongue deep into the hidden folds, practically eating her whole.

He took her near the edge and eased away again, over and over, taking her closer then away, gradually driving the anticipation and need with every incomplete build-up, until she barely cared the moment she pushed herself further into his mouth.

That was when he abruptly pulled away and her reaction was a confusing mixture of relief and frustration. But then the bed dipped and she found him kneeling over her face, his engorged cock pointed straight at her face. He jammed it against her closed mouth, spreading the pearly drop that had been on its tip over her lips. She turned away, trying to push him away. He wrenched a nipple hard and as she gasped from the pain, he slamming himself into her to the hilt. She gagged, suffocating from the massive cock jammed down her throat and panicking at his weight as he lay upside down over her, but then sensation exploded between her legs as he licked her again and she had no idea what was pain and what was pleasure.

He fucked her mouth as he built up the pressure on the bundle of nerves, closer towards that ultimate peak, then denying her, only to build again and deny again at the last moment, frustrating her no end. Somewhere amidst his twisted manipulations, she was unaware that she'd started raising her hips into his mouth and actively sucking on his cock, needing the release between her legs and grasping at whatever was available to her. Her hands clutched at his taut buttocks, sliding down over his muscled back that put Michelangelo's David to shame, curling in his hair. He in turn kept her legs wide, his fingers teasing around her intimate lips, tweaking her clit painfully, and sliding up her body to grasp her breasts and fondle her nipples as his tongue devoured her.

All her muscles were taut and straining, the repeated denials pushing her need until it bordered on pain. She clawed her blunt, mundane, normal human nails into his back and sucked especially hard on his cock, wanting to hurt him as much as he was hurting her.

Suddenly his thrusting hips picked up pace and force, and she could do nothing but hold her jaw wide as he slammed repeatedly into her abused mouth. He swirled his tongue around her hypersensitised clit with intent, building and building the pressure and not drawing away this time. Tears were streaming down her face from the gagging reflex, half suffocating and driven past conscious thought. The force of his hips driving into her face was getting too much, and her stomach heaved, jolting her head and her teeth caught on the underside of the swollen head.

That seemed to catch his attention and he eased off the force a little before he literally fucked her mouth to death. He swirled a few last times on her clit to take her back to the edge, then he abruptly shoved a finger into her and curled it up against her G-spot while simultaneously biting into the bundle of nerves. She crested, coming harder than she ever had in her life, vaguely registering his muffled roar and her own wordless screaming as he exploded in her mouth. She had to swallow, over and over, just to keep breathing, as sensation exploded right through her body to the tips of her fingers and toes. The world spun, stars filled her vision, and she was lost in a haze.

* * *

Groggy, dizzy, and barely conscious, she floated down gradually from her mind-blowing high to find herself with her arms clenched around Victor's waist and staring at his hairy ass. She cried out but it came out as nothing more than a muffled wail around his softening dick still in her mouth, and she shoved away at him, worming out from underneath him. He let her shove him off, grinning like the cat that ate the canary as he licked his glistening lips.

Absolutely mortified at her glistening juices smeared all over his mouth, at what had just happened – at what she'd done! – she leaped off the bed. She stumbled, her legs still weak, but she made it to the door. Before she could open it, however, Victor slammed into her from behind, crushing her into the door. He pulled her hair, forcing her head back painfully until she had to lean on him to maintain her balance.

She expected claws or fangs in her neck, but was caught entirely by surprise as he swiped a towel – must have been hers from earlier – across her lips and jaw, cleaning up the milky come that had overflowed. Releasing her hair but keeping her trapped against the door, he wiped his own face. Then he leaned down, hooked an arm under her knee and lifted it, reaching forward to wipe between her legs. He stepped back to clean himself off, giving her room but she couldn't move, shocked to stillness. It wasn't the most gentle gesture by any means, but still spinning from the stupendous orgasm, the fact that he was cleaning her off was enough to root her to the spot.

His thumb brushed briefly down the twin lines on her cheek before he dropped a heavy hand on the back of her neck and opened the door.

"Now, we can go."

Her heart thudded and missed a beat. "Uh... Go where?"

"You're sleeping with me tonight."

She dug her heels in. "No..!"

His hand squeezed her neck, practically picking her up as he dragged her along. "Just sleeping, frail. But in my bed. And you'll be sleeping in my bed every night from now on."

"You can't –"

"Quit arguing or you'll be bare-ass naked too."

She fearfully, reluctantly, let him push her into his bedroom. It had the same ridiculously large bed as the spare room, the same black sheets, but the whole room generally had more furniture – darkly masculine – with clothes strewn about, a low fire in the hearth, and odd bits and bobs as a lived-in room usually had.

He threw a t-shirt and pair of boxers in her face – grabbing them, they looked the same as what she'd left folded on the spare bed. She hurriedly pulled them on. He might have seen every part of her but she still wasn't going to parade around naked. She was relieved that he pulled on a pair of boxers, at least.

He pulled back the thick duvet. She eyed the distance to the door, and glanced back to find him half grinning at her.

"Gonna try and run?"

He sounded entirely too pleased with the idea, a sharp glint in his eyes. She was beginning to recognise his 'hunting' mode, knew it wouldn't be good to excite the animal in him. She shook her head.

He almost looked disappointed. She yelped as he suddenly lunged for her, and she managed to get all of two steps before she was thrown unceremoniously over his shoulder. Then he was over to the bed and he tossed her down like a sack of potatoes.

He threw himself down on his back, she scooted away just in time not to get squashed. She put herself as far away from him as she could, which unfortunately didn't feel nearly far enough even with the ridiculous size of the bed when he was so large. He tapped a panel on the wall beside his head and the lights blinked out.

She stared unseeing in the sudden darkness towards where she thought he was. Deprived of sight, all her other senses seemed to pick up the slack. His smell, the musky, earthy smell that permeated the whole lodge, was particularly strong here in his bed and with him so close. Timber creaked, the heating system clanged, the wind outside whistled.

Something moved on her and she started, scurrying to get out of the bed. A firm grip on her arm held her in place until she held still. Then that movement again, and she realised he was pulling the covers over her.

"Go to sleep."

"I can't, not with you so close."

"Would it help if I held you?" he offered with obvious sarcasm.

"No," she scoffed.

"Then go to sleep."

_How in the world am I supposed to fall asleep?_, she huffed to herself.

But it _had_ been the most intense orgasm of her life. She nodded off in its afterglow only minutes later.

* * *

**A/N:** Phew... *deep breaths* I don't know if I feel sorry for Sofie or wish I was in her place... tee hee! Steamy enough for y'all? Would you like more? :)

Work is very busy but I'll write whenever I can in 2013. Question for avid Victor fans: Trip abroad coming up! I know Logan's terrible on planes but how's Victor with flying? I can't remember! If no one tells me I'll make it up, but I'd rather be true to his character if poss. And please let me know what you thought of this! Cheers!

Wishing you all a very happy new year!

~ Nyx ~


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